A Product of the Red Room
by CloudCuckooLandHasAQueen
Summary: Spoilers for Age of Ultron (you've been warned). Bruce shouldn't have ever thought that she would have actually gone with him. He thought that things would be fine after she invented the lullaby. When Natasha disappears to confront her own her personal Hell, Bruce is forced to confront everything he's been running from.
1. Too Busy To Miss You

**This is quick, barely checked over, my first Avenger's fic, and full of feels from my Avenger's 2 high. There will be spoilers. I don't own anything related to Marvel, except a few issues of comic books I dug out of a 50% off bin, and I don't think that counts. It's mainly introspection. I'm thinking about extending it into a full length story. Do tell me what you think!**

Hurt and betrayal weren't new to Bruce Banner, and in hindsight, putting his trust in an already not so trustworthy spy that switched allegiances a lot in her career was stupid. She lured him in, the way she did with any mark. It was cruel of her to act like she wanted the same things as him. She spoke of running away and living somewhere quiet, but of course, when the time came, when he decided that he had enough and thought that when he ran, for once there would be someone to run with him, she disappointed him.

 _No you dumbass, she didn't disappoint you, she pushed you into a pit._

"I adore you."

Her words haunted him ever since he woke up. The Other Guy seemed to make the decision to leave for him. He didn't know what he would have done if he woke up to see Natasha staring down at him, no doubt with a proper explanation ready. The master manipulator would always find a way to use him. No doubt she would have soothed him, just enough to keep him calm until they needed him again.

 _But isn't it nice to be needed?_

Not when Natasha Romanoff was involved.

It was ironic that the place he ended up was Russia. He hadn't meant it to be that way, but he figured that Natasha wouldn't think to search for him in her homeland. Then again, Natasha probably wouldn't be looking for him anyway. He lived in a quiet rural area, in nothing more than a shack overlooking the mountains and a small creek. It was also freezing all the time. The empty barren landscape did nothing to bring peace though, not the sort of peace he felt when Natasha brought him a cup of tea in the morning or whispered something funny about Steve or Tony in his ear. Bruce was fully aware that he was lonely, but couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

He figured that when he was needed, he would be found.

Besides, in the end, the best way to calm him down was a lullaby, and he figured that Natasha was still the only one that would be able to do it.

* * *

Before

Bruce just wanted to disappear. He wished that he could fold in on himself over and over again until he was as small as a single atom. His teeth clacked together painfully and he shivered, very much aware of the fact that he did not have any clothes. He saw her black shoes before she threw a blanket over his body, and hauled him up into a sitting position. It was the first time he lost control since he chased her, since he almost—

"Banner's down. He's fine." Natasha's voice was low and businesslike for a moment before she switched off her set, "Dr. Banner? Dr. Banner—it's time to move—"

"I killed—I almost—"

"You didn't kill anyone, Bruce." He blinked, peering around at the wreckage, he could have sworn he heard screaming—"

"How'd you do that, Romanoff?" Barton called out to her.

Bruce was confused, but the pressure of her hand against his back told him it was time to go. His tired, aching body had to be supported by Natasha, but she carried him with grace and dignity, up into the shuttle where everything was safe and quiet—but it wasn't, not with all the blinking lights and bleeps, not with everyone (except Barton, Barton was flying the aircraft) staring at him like he did something more freakish than usual. Natasha was still beside him, rubbing the blankets for some form of friction.

"Once we're back, we'll get you some proper clothes." She told him, her voice was still clipped and short, but there was a soothing quality.

"Seriously, though. Usually it takes hours for us to chase him down." Steve rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean, how did you do that?"

"I'm not sure."

Bruce flinched away from Natasha. "W-what's g-going on?"

"Well." Tony Stark's unmistakably cocky voice sounded from whatever speaker was nearest, "Our resident black widow talked the Hulk down with a pretty little lullaby."

"What? That isn't—"

"It worked." Natasha's voice was as cold as the day he met her. She stood up, "That's what matters."

Hours later, Natasha perched on the edge of the sofa, lazily surfing through files on a tablet. She gave Bruce no delusions about being able to sneak up on her, immediately looking up the moment he entered the room.

"I—uh—wanted to thank you—"

"For what?"

"I don't know." Bruce shook his head, feeling as if he was under a microscope.

"I don't know if it could happen that way more than once." Natasha immediately closed out of what she was working on, "But if it is replicable, we should try to do so, because it's far more efficient than tranqs or guns or really anything."

"What—what did you do exactly?"

Natasha gestured for Bruce to sit next to her on the sofa. She was close, not as close as after he transformed, but close enough that he felt nervous. Shouldn't she be the one more afraid of him?

As if reading his thoughts, Natasha spoke, "A healthy dose of fear keeps you alive."

That was it. Natasha was the only one that knew just how dangerous he was, and the only one that treated it with the same level of severity. Everyone else joked and laughed it off, but Natasha knew what it was like to be on the other end of the Other Guy's rage. Yet, she still smiled at him and offered her hand. She was humming something slow and sweet while she did this, running her hand up and down his arm.

"The sun's getting real low." She whispered, and a faint memory of her saying that flickered through his mind, almost immediately chased away by the feeling of her fingertips on his skin, "It's been a long day. We're all very tired."

Bruce laughed weakly, "You've been training it in me. Ever since the helicarrier, you've been saying things like that—humming that—are you attempting to control my mind?"

"No. I'm hoping to control the Other Guy. Subliminal messaging." She gestured outside, "The sun's getting real low, doctor."

"So this is your way of controlling the situation." Bruce tipped his head back, closing his eyes as she slid her hand down his forearm one more time, "And it worked?"

"Yeah. Yeah it did."

"Sun's getting real low huh? Where'd you get that one?"

"You say it when you're tired."

"Oh—" He didn't expect her to know things like this, but then again, she was a spy. Spies observed.

* * *

Natasha didn't have time to be upset.

She purposely made it so. Getting the new Avengers team together was hard and difficult work that required hours of planning, practice, and the occasional mission. Really, she didn't feel like she had the right to be mad that he left. He was always wanting to run and run and run but that last time, she thought that maybe she could run too. It was a happy fantasy while it lasted. A beautiful delusion that she constructed for herself when it seemed like things wouldn't be so dire without her. Of course, the long list of people, robots, aliens, and who knows what else shattered that. Natasha would never be able to run away from her work, without constantly wondering if there was someone else she could help, someone else that needed to be terminated, another life lost, another life saved.

Her ledger still wasn't clean and running away wouldn't fix it.

Natasha couldn't allow herself to be mad at Bruce because she wronged him. She used him one last time, and fate of the world be damned, that was all it took to rip apart the tentative trust they developed. He would assume that she was still the operative that lied her ass off on their first meeting. In many ways, she still was. The Red Room bent and twisted her from the moment she was orphaned, but she was allowed to choose now. She was allowed to be a better person, even if by helping far better people, she had to dirty her hands, or let Bruce go on yet another sabbatical.

She chose to go with Barton.

She chose to be Aunt Nat.

She chose to push Bruce.

She chose to fight.

It was better for the fallout of her choices to rain down on her own tattered body, rather than that of to what others believe (except maybe Barton and Laura, they understood her better than anyone she had ever met) she wouldn't simply throw them under the bus when it suited her. She wanted to be helpful. She wanted to be good. She would continue to fight for their sakes.

 _It's the only thing you know how to do._


	2. Natasha Leaving

**So a little warning. There will be events presented out of order in this story, as well as different points of view. This is usually signaled by a line break, and if it happened before AoU, then there will be a "Before" stamped on it ahead of time. But hey, ladies and gentlemen, we now have a (gasp) plot!**

Natasha placed a plate full of steaming pasta in front of Wanda. The girl stared blankly at it before taking a single, tentative bite. After that, she dug in, eating until her fork scraped the plate. Natasha didn't even have to wait for her plea before she put more spaghetti and meatballs on her charge's plate.

"I saw a dark place when I saw your mind." Wanda spoke at last, wiping her face unceremoniously with her napkin.

"I was there. Remember?" Natasha smiled despite herself, "Those were unfortunate times."

"I'm sorry about intruding upon your mind."

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I—I trust you."

"Wanda—"

"I trust you even when nobody else does. I always trust you."

"Always _will_ trust you. English tenses are difficult, aren't they?"

"Deflection."

"Good girl. Thank you for putting your trust in me. After your childhood and the hell you've been through, that's a very precious thing."

"You know better than them." Wanda lowered her voice slightly, "I saw—"

"You saw a place no one should ever go."

"They—they told me about the Red Room. I didn't believe them. I thought it was silly—and even when your files were leaked—it was just a rumor."

"It's never just a rumor."

"Could it still exist?"

"That's very—sadly very—possible, Wanda." Natasha shook her head, taking her time rolling noodles on her fork and taking a bite.

"You should look into it, Natasha." Wanda looked down at her plate, "At least my brother and I had a choice."

"And now you've made yours." Natasha covered Wanda's shaking hand, "As did your brother."

Wanda and Pietro were prepared to die the same day she almost fled. It was for people they only just met, people of the country they wanted to protect, and millions of people they didn't know. Natasha's choice had been pragmatic. It had been right. She could always be counted on to be pragmatic and practical, but she was still not quite used to reasoning things in terms of right and wrong. Wanda stood up, taking their plates to the sink to wash them.

The girl had become an unofficial roommate of sorts. She was placed in her care, even though Wanda was more than capable of taking care of herself. Even in her time of mourning, Wanda couldn't be distracted from the goal. Natasha surmised that her brother would have been very proud of Wanda. They would never know for sure though. He was dead.

* * *

Before

"You shouldn't beat yourself up about the helicarrier so much." Tony spoke suddenly, "Natasha's tough."

"I almost killed her—"

"Look, if there's anyone in the world that could figure out how to kill you if really, truly needed, it would be the Black Widow."  
"That's a bit of a stretch—"

"No—no it's really not. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already cooked up a few good theories on it. The fact that she didn't want to test any of them out on you and your Hulkiness suggests that she, like the rest of us, likes having you around." Bruce snorted. He doubted it. He couldn't even die. That was the worst part. He couldn't find that final cure, so how could she?

Tony shook his head, "If anyone can kill you, it's Agent Romanoff. I have no damn clue why that would be a relief to you, but there you have it."

Both men grew silent when Natasha entered the room, her eyes catching Bruce's. She was humming a strange little tune he never heard before, "Fury wants to speak with you, Stark."

"uggh—what does Cyclops want now?"

"You said that last time. Here I thought you were clever." Bruce couldn't help but grin at Natasha's remark.

"I am clever!" Tony shouted as he walked out the door.

Natasha didn't have time for a reply that was no doubt at the tip of her tongue. Instead, she turned towards Bruce, "I don't know how you can stand him. Being his PA for two weeks was excruciating."

"You were his assistant?"

"Undercover." She pressed a finger against her lips, "The others don't know that entire story—shhhh."

* * *

Romanoff had been missing four days before Steve decided it was time to call it in. It wasn't in her nature to disappear, especially not without a mission. Yet, she wasn't anywhere to be found. At first, he simply assumed that she wanted to be alone for a while and it was highly unlikely that she had been kidnapped. Four days seemed far too permanent though, permanent like Banner's abandonment. It didn't sit well with him.

"My problem with Romanoff being gone, is mainly that we won't be able to find her if she doesn't want to be found. Tracking Banner is easy in comparison."

"Wait, you know where Dr. Banner is?"

"Yeah—why?"

"Has it occurred to you that maybe that's where she went?"

"Why would she go there—?"

"You are an idiot." Hawkeye shook his head like Steve was a lost cause. Steve didn't particularly like that look on him but decided to ignore the comment.

"So Black Widow's hooked up with the Hulk in some remote part of South America then?" Tony asked, not even looking away from the data he had on the display.

"Well, actually it's Russia but—"

"Even better. We can get some good vodka while we're there."

"You're not taking this seriously—"

"Look. It's Natasha. Super not so secret anymore agent and assassin that is likely in her homeland, sipping vodka with Dr. Banner. Maybe they need somewhere quiet. Somewhere to be alone for a while."

"Did you say something that was actually heartfelt and genuine?"

"No, I just don't feel like going to Russia."

"We could at least make contact with Banner."

"Good. You do that. I'm looking at solar panels for the new place."

"That's—nice, I guess. Barton, want to go check it out with me?"

"Yeah. Nat would at least give me a tip off, though. Especially if she was going off grid with Banner. He's terrible at covering his tracks by the way."

"And that's why he's a Hulk scientist, and not a spy."

"You're worried too, admit it. Laura will have a fit if she knows Natasha's gone AWOL on us. She's supposed to babysit on the twelfth."

Steve looked at both of the men, "Am I the only one that's worried?"

"No." Hawkeye replied, his light tone suddenly changing, "I'm just waiting for you to tell me when we ship out."

* * *

Bruce almost dropped his coffee mug, staring at the three men standing at his door. Wanda Maximoff was behind them, her arms crossed to ward off the cold, but she was staring calculatingly into his eyes. The Other Guy stirred for a moment, but then he fell silent, much to Bruce's relief.

"You found me."

"We never lost you." Steve said, his kind voice sounding more patronizing than anything else. "Agent Romanoff told us that we should leave you alone for a bit."

"Wh—"

"Look, vacation's over, pal." Tony interrupted, "We need your help again—Wanda?"

"She's not here." Wanda replied.

"Do I have to stop global destruction again?" Bruce asked wearily.

"No—"

"Tasha's gone missing." Wanda interrupted Clint, "We must find her."

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found." Bruce didn't know where to put his hands, and ended up clasping them in front of himself like a chastised school boy. He didn't want to think about Natasha. He didn't want to think about any of it, but they didn't seem to be giving him a choice.

"Natasha's not like you." Wanda snapped, her eyes burning red as the shutters on the cottage flapped back and forth.

"Wanda—calm down—"

"She doesn't run."

That hurt. Not enough for him to transform, but that hurt. Bruce shook his head, "Do you have any idea where she is?"

"We think she's here, in Russia. We thought she might have sought you out."

"No—she hadn't." Bruce's heartbeat increased slightly. Had she intended to? What would she have said? Would he just allow her to manipulate him all over again? Where was she? Why was he bothering with asking about this at all? He wanted to ask all of these questions, but instead, what came out of his mouth was "We'll find her."

* * *

The next time Natasha thought about Pietro and Wanda, she was hiding. She was going to die that night. It was an eventuality that hung over her head and weighed her down. There weren't many things that she wanted to say to anyone. Oddly enough, apologizing to Laura Barton about unexpectedly dropping off the face of the earth was the first thing she thought of doing. Telling her, Clint, and the children how much she cared for them all was next. Everyone else would assume what she would have said to them, based on their limited knowledge of her.

She gasped, clutching the wound in her side, literally feeling the poison pulsing through her swelling veins as her heart worked in overtime (and in vain) to keep her body going.

"Tattie—what should I do?" A girl's voice made it through the haze that overtook Natasha's mind.

It took her a moment to grasp for her native Russian,"Be a dear." Natasha's voice sounded oddly cold and detached, even to her own ears, "And shoot me in the head."

She heard the gun click.

No one could really know what the dead thought of them.


	3. A Primadonna's Ugly Feet

**So I won't always be this quick about getting chapters out. I'm sick and haven't been sleeping, so fanfiction and Marvel movies have basically been all I can focus on. Lucky for you guys, here's another chapter! Do leave reviews! Reviews are awesome! I'm incorporating stuff from the comic books as well, and bringing my own twist to the story, so I will be straying a little from canon, especially in the Black Widow's backstory.**

Natasha stood in front of Nick Fury as she was going over documents that she wasn't supposed to have access to. She did it so often that Fury had given up on keeping her out of the loop on any level. He knew her distrust of organizations and her "need to know" attitude had been practically dead from the moment she joined SHIELD. She only trusted Clint and Nick, and even those bonds could be shaky at best.

"What is it, Romanoff?"

"I'm leaving the Avengers." She decided to be point blank about it.

"And why is that?"

"It's disbanding to an extent anyway and after Sokovia, I'm mainly seen in a good enough light that I can go away now."

"Do you mind telling me where you're going?"

"Tell them I'm going to Russia. They'll assume I'm going to find Bruce."

"Agent Romanoff, what are you planning to do?"

Natasha smiled in response. Nick always knew there was a hidden agenda "I'm going undercover. Deep undercover. No extractions, no communications, nothing that will connect me to Avengers or anything you've organized. It's a personal mission, sir."

"And what exactly is that?"

"Can't tell you. I might not come back. It's—I'll be slipping back in some of my old ways."

"Natasha."

"Yes?"

"Never forget that somewhere, deep down, under all of that crazy leather, homicidal tendencies, and pathological lying, there is a good person."

"Good one, Nick. I'm going out. Please don't tell them. If you do—I'm far better than anyone else who has tried to kill you. And that is not an empty threat."

* * *

Bruce trudged alongside Steve. He didn't know where they were going. Tony had to return New York for some reason or another, but Bruce wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that a Russian winter was settling in. Wanda was ahead of them, dead set on finding Natasha it seemed. He didn't know how to feel about the witch like girl. She brought out his worst fears and what made him angry so quickly that his transformation occurred too rapidly for him to think about it. Natasha had been hit by Wanda too, which made it strange that she and Wanda were friendly. Not friends though, Natasha didn't really seem to think of anyone but Clint as her friend. Wanda could set him off at any moment. He felt his heartbeat elevate, remembering the visions she put in his head.

 _—An entire city in flames that he couldn't stop smashing—_

 _—Natasha—where was she? He was angry—so angry—_

 _—Red—her body on the ground—did he—?_

 _—Blood—no—a bullet—_

"Hey Bruce? Bruce? Are you okay?" Steve asked.

Wanda glanced over her shoulder at him, seeming apologetic but saying nothing. Bruce took deep breaths, trying to control his breathing, "I'm just—"

"Worried? Yeah, me too. All Nick could give us was Russia—and when it comes to land mass, that's huge. She's also so much better at hiding than us. If she wanted to be found, she would send up a signal, so I'm assuming she hasn't been kidnapped."

"What if—?" Wanda began to ask the question Bruce had been avoiding.

"She's not dead." He cut her off, his voice flat.

"Of course she isn't." Steve sounded so optimistic that the other two both wanted to punch him.

"Where are we going now?"

"A house."

"Safe house?"

"Safe for the enemy, maybe." Wanda replied darkly, "I saw part of Tasha's mind. A man's name. I searched him in the databases. I searched him in the files. I found his picture finally, with a different name altogether. He lives here."

'Here' turned out to be an old, run down looking house in a row of old run down looking houses, which all had roofs that looked like they bent under the weight of the snow. A pair of little children were playing in the yard, throwing snowballs at each other, and laughing. They reminded Bruce of Clint's kids and he couldn't help but feel a little wistful. He thought Natasha had been wistful too, but he didn't know. He couldn't know for sure, not until he asked directly, without any motivation for her to lie to him.

Wanda reached out and knocked, "Mr. Sharonoff?"

"What do you want?" A man demanded, opening the door, speaking broken English. In the background, Bruce heard music. He couldn't place where it was from for a moment, but then he realized it was from Swan Lake. He was old and balding, with glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Wanda cocked her head to the side, "That's not your real name, is it?"

"Look, I don't know who sent you or what you're doing but-"

"It's about Natasha-Natalia Romanova." The man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"I think it'd be best if you come in."

* * *

She found the person she was looking for outside of Moscow. All the signs were there. The girl used razor wire to kill in close quarters. He was a political figure, not famous enough to become a martyr, but fully capable of being a problem to the powers that be. Russia was an interesting place to be in. It was always changing, for the better, for the worse, either way it never stayed the same. Empires rise and fall so easily that Natasha didn't see the point in getting attached to them.

The girl had a dancer's body, dark red hair just like Natasha's, and a gun hidden in her coat. She couldn't have been more than eleven. That was when Natasha had her first mission. Killing without compassion was easy by then. It was a given that killing was a part of their lives. It was ingrained into them, from the first time that the killed another girl with her bare hands, all for the sake of survival.

Suddenly the girl turned, but before she could get the chance to draw her weapon, the Black Widow had a cord wrapped around the girl's body, dragging her forward and to her knees.

"Why are you following me?"

"I need to know where your handlers are."

"Why?" The girl spat, struggling, but Natasha could tell this was a rudimentary attempt at gathering information.

"Because I'm the Black Widow. I'm going to let you go and you're going to lead me to them. Every trick you have, I know."

"You can't possibly—"

"Let's see, you got a mission by eleven—that means that you probably first killed another girl when you were nine. It was training, you didn't want to, but your tutor willed it. You didn't want to be seen as weak. Weak girls die."

"You're _the_ Black Widow? The one that leaked everything on SHIELD and Hydra."

"The one and only."

The girl nodded, "Natalia."

"Call me Tattie for short. What's your name?"

"Yelena."

"Lena for short?"

"I've never had a short name."

"Well today's a new day, Lena."

"Will you let me out now? I won't try to kill you. Survival is my imperative at this stage."

Natasha's heart dropped. She remembered being eleven. She remembered phrases like that going through her head at each stage in a mission. Lena climbed out of her slackened bonds and turned, walking ahead of Natasha.

"Are you going to kill my handlers?"

"Would you mind if I did?"

"Not really." Came Lena's apathetic reply, "I can always get a new one."

Natasha was always a fighter. Even when she was very small, she was fighting. She was stuck underneath rubble for three days before someone dug her out. Her brothers and parents had been killed. Lot's of people had been killed, so they didn't pay much attention to the orphan that was picked up one day. They hadn't lured her with food or promise of seeing her parents like the other girls. Instead, a man crouched down in front of her, cradling her little hand in his. Snow fell around them, as it always seemed to, endless and without reprise.

"It is very cold here." He said.

"It is." Natasha (Natalia was her name then) felt the warmth that encompassed her hand, the smooth leather of his glove against her raw, chapped fingers. He was big and strong, towering over her like a mountain.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"And your neighbors?"

"None." Natasha left out the part about the people left ignoring her. They were as hungry as she was. Some of them had broken limbs, or bits and pieces cut off with ugly pus seeping from their wounds. They didn't have room for her in their world.

"How do you keep warm?"

Natasha pointed towards the rubble remains of a house, "I go underground. I light a fire like my mama sometimes."

"That's very clever of you." The man nodded encouragingly, "Do you want to go somewhere warm?"

"Warm?"

"Yes warm—and there's pretty ballet dancers. Did you ever go to a ballet before?"

Natasha shook her head.

"They work very hard until their feet bleed and ache to make a beautiful show. You would be good at it. You bled and yet you stand straight. That is what can make a dancer in the Red Room."

A Red Room sounded ominous to Natasha, but she wasn't about to let him walk away without her. She assumed that nothing could be worse than the Hell she encountered in the past month by herself. Natasha still can't bring herself to regret taking his hand. She would have never met Clint, or Bruce, or Tony, or Wanda or anyone else that meant anything in her life if it weren't for the Hell she chose.

She saw herself, years later, rising effortlessly to her toes and stepping down just as quickly, making the motion look painless, making it look pretty.

The memory was ingrained in her head but it wasn't until she started to follow Lena that things she pushed out of view were coming back to haunt her.

She had a mission and Lena was an operative.


	4. A Hawkeye Perspective

**So today, we are going into the origins of Clint and Natasha. I'm also going to shamelessly self promote a oneshot I wrote called the Art of Being A Chill Bystander. I think it's funny. Anyway, enjoy!**

He wished she would have told him she was leaving.

Actually no, that was a lie. Clint just wanted Natasha to come home, already. She belonged as a member of his family. Both he and Laura had no extended family, and both worried about how that would affect the children but Natasha fell into the role of "Aunt Nat" and their fears, oddly enough, were alleviated. It hadn't been easy for her. If it had been, Clint would have assumed that she was just assuming another cover. She genuinely wanted to be Aunt Nat, and it worked.

He hated down time; he hated having nothing to do other than hang out on top of a person's roof in the snow in freaking Russia, watching an old man tell his companions a story. It was always best to show all the guns, in case there's need for a sniper in the works. That's where he came in, sitting and watching. Sitting and waiting was what he did best, but God, he almost missed the excitement of the world nearly being ended by technology that was meant to protect it. After that, watching an old man through the window was boring.

It didn't help that his usual companion wasn't there with him, not even being a comforting voice in the chaos. Natasha had never been a runner. He had a bad feeling about her disappearance. Then again, she had been odd, recently. In fact, she hadn't been all right (as all right as she could be, all things considered) since Wanda reached inside her mind. Bruce's little stunt did nothing to help it along. He thought Natasha was finally starting to get something resembling happiness. She never told him exactly what happened between her and Bruce, but he gathered that she had no choice but to induce his transformation. Superficially, he saw exactly why, pragmatically speaking, she did it. They needed all the manpower they could get to stop a robot invasion. Clint also could see it as self-sabotage.

Maybe in her own bizarre way, Natasha thought she was protecting Bruce by chasing him away as much as Bruce thought he was protecting her by running away. He would have to run this theory by Laura when he got home. Natasha always thought of others first. His hand instinctively went to a pocket where a pill was hidden.

He would also have to ask her to make him hot cocoa because RUSSIA IS FUCKING COLD.

Natasha needed to come home and become Aunt Nat and his closest friend again.

* * *

Things weren't making sense again.

She was getting sick.

A bit of hair fell into the sink after she combed her hair.

It was getting worse.

The day before she decided to leave the Avengers, Natasha threw up three times. When she took a knife and drew a line across the top of her thigh, she found that her blood had taken a sickly color. She didn't know if the Red Room still existed. She would have no choice but to find out. A part of her hoped it was still there but another part of her hoped that everything about the Black Widow Ops had been buried with the Cold War, even if it meant she had to die for it. There was a part of Natasha that never wanted to roll over and die though. That's what made her an excellent Black Widow.

Bruce was also in Russia. If she happened to find him in the process, she could easily cite her mission as the reason. It would be nice to get to see him again.

* * *

Before.

Clint received his orders with dignity, although secretly he was squirming a little. It wasn't every day that an archer was assigned to take a Black Widow Ops assassin. Finding her wasn't difficult. He wondered briefly if she was leaving breadcrumbs for him for some reason. They were in Peru, standing and staring at each other for a moment before he drew his bow and she took a long cord and ripped it from his hands. From there, the fight was a blur. She was deadly, more like a mercenary than an assassin in the way that she could easily traverse the rugged landscape.

He threw her up against the wall, and there was a moment, a strange little moment where something different glinted in her eyes. She spotted something behind him and before he could react, she pushed him to the side. A bullet ripped through her thigh, and she shot into the night once before slumping against the cliff side, her hand going to her wound.

Instinctively, Clint dropped to her side, "What were you—?"

"You were—" She gasped, clutching at her wound, "Going to kill me anyway. Might as well not let you get shot. Don't—ah—want someone who killed me dying so—pathetically. Principle really."

"Really?"

"Nah—" She giggled suddenly, "You just don't seem all that bad. And—I'm tired."

At that point, Clint realized that there was some shred of humanity in the Black Widow. She wouldn't be easily persuaded, but he figured it'd worth a try or two. He immediately got to work, fashioning a quick tourniquet with the handle of a knife.

"You've done this before." She commented dryly, her head tipped up towards the sky. "Why bother?"

"It would help if you had something else to focus on." Clint ignored her question.

"Hmmm—how about a question?"

"Like what?"

"Do you have a family?"

It sounded innocent enough, "Yeah." He had just gotten married to Laura at the time, and she already had a baby on the way.

"That's nice. Families are nice." She shifted uncomfortably as he tightened it, wrapping her wound, "I'll need stitches."

"How about your family?"

"Drunkards. Blown to bits anyway. If I were you and I had a family, I wouldn't be here, my friend. This is darkness."

"What's your name?"

"Natasha."

"Mine's Clint, Clint Barton. And I'm allowed to have a family if I so wish."

"Keep them off everything." Natasha smiled, "Not even your most trusted handler should know much."

"Great advice, coming from a killer."

"If I were trying to get to you, I'd take your family first." Natasha tried to shrug, but winced instead. "It's logical. Protect them."

"You're different than I expected."

"Before, I'd been asleep." Natasha finally lost consciousness.

Clint took a lot of heat for taking Natasha to the extraction point, but he didn't care. After receiving proper medical treatment and hours upon hours of interrogation, Natasha was sent to him to be trained. Everyone was under the assumption that he would fail, but if there was anything Natasha was good at, it was adapting to a new situation. She didn't meet Laura for two years and that was only to prove how easy it was to find them. They moved and the only people that knew the new location were Fury and Natasha.

At first, the sight of Natasha on the floor with a toddler was a strange and foreign one. "Get your own." He said jokingly.

"I can't." She replied simply, "I can't ever have _this."_

* * *

Natasha and Yelena sat across from each other. From the outside, they were just two people, perhaps a mother and daughter meeting for dinner. Internally though, they silently fought over who got to have their back to the wall, but Natasha won through seniority. It was the safest seat in the house, giving her a good view out the window. The waitress walked up to them, completely oblivious to the tense air that surrounded them. Yelena rushed to order, obviously truly excited by the prospect. Natasha remembered that. Every time she operated alone, she could eat whatever she wanted for once. Food wasn't measured out or with held from her as much as it was at the academy. Natasha ordered as well.

"Oh! How nice! Mother daughter lunch dinner! You're both so pretty!" The waitress giggled.

Yelena's hand immediately reached up to touch her reddish hair, "Yes—Mama, can I get dessert?" Her eyes widened a little too dramatically. Natasha would have to work on the girl's acting.

"Only if you promise to study hard tonight." Yelena cocked her head at the words, trying to decipher a double meaning. Natasha settled back in her seat as the waitress walked away, "If you want to be like me, then you're going to have to be far more dedicated to your acting. It's not all about physical weak spots. The mental ones are the most vulnerable. There are points of improvement in your technique. I'll try to teach you before we get to the school."

Yelena nodded thoughtfully, "If—if I do this—I can leave—I don't go back?"

Natasha smirked, "Yes. Now figure out if I'm lying or not."

 **Oooooh weeeee ooooohhhh. I don't know when this became more about Natasha, but I'm loving it. Maybe I should change the summary. Do review! They make me happy!**


	5. Cinderella's Broken Glass Shoes

**I'm suddenly really happy that I finally get to use my knowledge of dance in a story. It's not like I'm even a dancer, I just really like ballet and my brother and sister are both involved in it all while I can't even touch my toes. Guess we all have our talents.**

The best way to sabotage a ballerina is to target her feet. Even the most minor of injuries would cause her to be cast to the side because feet were the columns on which the rest of the dancer relied on.

All Natalia had to do was put a little broken glass in her shoes and watch her fall.

* * *

They shared a compartment on the train. Closer and closer and closer—

SHIELD had very little intelligence on the Red Room. In fact, they operated under the assumption that it died with the fall of communism in Russia. Natasha never sought it out. She found that a little strange. Surely, she would have at least done a little bit of research, if not for SHIELD, then for herself? In protecting herself, she was protecting the horror show that created her. She still was.

"He thinks I used him." Natasha didn't know what about Yelena caused her to confide in the girl, but as soon as she spoke of Bruce, Natasha figured out it was a good test of Yelena's manipulation skills.

"Did you?"

"Is there anybody we don't use, Lena?"

"I thought—"

"That you'd escape it? Possibly. I did this a lot longer before I woke up. I graduated. You haven't—and won't."

Natasha added the last part on the end, more for her own sake than Yelena's. The child was so small. Was Natasha really that small once? It was a strange thought. It was like picturing one of the Barton kids holding a decapitated head. Bruce thought that he was the only one with no choice in the matter, but looking back, Natasha realized that she didn't have a chance in Hell of being normal.

Natasha knew human nature and she knew the Avengers even better. They wouldn't blame Bruce for leaving but they would demand a sound explanation of every action from Natasha because they expected her to be _logical._ Was she not allowed respite? Was she not allowed to try and seek peace in whatever way she possibly could? Maybe she was delusional, but torching the Red Room and stealing it's secrets felt like it would wipe her ledger clean and maybe—

It would never be clean.

She will never be free.

She had to keep fighting.

"You are completely insane." Natasha thought to herself, clutching her head as a splitting headache ripped through her.

The reply came next, "No. I'm waking up."

* * *

Before

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Bruce asked one day, his head tipped back against the wall. He didn't want to admit how calming her voice was, but when she hummed that same tune as the sun set, he couldn't help but relax.

"I've been appointed as your handler."

"My handler? Like a dog?" He tried to laugh, but it sounded a little too forced and wispy. Natasha didn't buy it for a minute.

"A little. It's a spy and assassin term." Bruce winced. He didn't like being reminded that he was now lumped in with assassins and monsters. "In normal cases, that entails neutralizing you if you become too volatile, but that's kind of impossible with you. Basically it means that any unnecessary damage you cause is on me for not preventing it."

"Good luck with the job security." Bruce couldn't help but be snarky.

She shrugged, "You work with what you got."

"So you've been ordered to be nice to me."

"No. I've been ordered to keep you in control as much as I can."

"That explains the pretending to be nice to me thing, then."

"I'm not pretending to be nice to you." Bruce looked at her, but Natasha's eyes were fixed on the view, "You're my friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Are friends not nice to each other? I'm still new to the feeling."

She seemed entirely serious. Her tone wasn't light at all when she said it, and Bruce couldn't help but feel a little bad for her. "Not sure. I never really had friends either."

"Here I thought your upbringing was normal."

"Compared to yours? Maybe. Compared to others? Not really."

"I read your file."

"Of course you did." Bruce shrugged, "I read yours too."

"Wonderful."

Natasha returned to humming. Bruce wanted to know what the song was, but for some reason he was reluctant to ask. Instead, he stared out at the sunset, as he did practically every night.

"Sun's getting real low." He finally said, "We should probably go back in."

"You know, you go to sleep really early for a mad scientist. I thought you were all insomniacs." Natasha teased, but he didn't sense any bite to it.

"Yeah, well, I make up for it by being an early riser."

She smiled, "We can wait a little longer." Her phone vibrated. She checked it and the corners of her mouth fell out of its easy smile, "Wait for me, and I'll come back."

"Take your time."

Frankly, those days out on the balcony never got old for Bruce. Even if he knew that they were just manipulation and attempts at subliminal messages for the Other Guy, he loved the feeling of sitting out on the balcony and talking to Natasha like a normal human being. The strangest part about that was that she never let him forget what he became. Everyone else tried to ignore it for the most part, treating him like Bruce, and an occasional dose of the Other Guy, but Natasha seemed to understand that he was always there, ready to come out at a drop of a hat. Yet talking to her felt as easy as taking deep breaths to stave off the anger.

Maybe he just didn't want to scare her again.

After they established that the "lullaby" worked, something shifted between them. Bruce should have been irritated with her (or with himself for not realizing it) for having a hidden motive but he wasn't. She joined him on the balcony after that and even though he was completely aware of what she was doing, he still felt something more. He shouldn't have. He didn't know when it started, but he stared looking at her like she was more than an operative who ripped him away from his falsely peaceful life and beyond that of an ally or a friend. He was aware that he stared at her and went out of his way to seek her company and he was aware that she was aware of this, but he couldn't change the path he was on. Bruce made the mistake of being very fatalistic about the whole ordeal, like he had no choice.

He had one. It wasn't like she purposely decided to make a monster fall in love with her. She wasn't that crazy.

He hoped.

* * *

The elderly man settled on his sofa, not bothering to turn down the music. It came from an old cassette player. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, "You're Sokovian." Wanda noddd. The man, shook his head, "How did you find me?"

"It took a lot of time and effort. It was really luck." Wanda leaned forward as well, "Alexei Shostakov, we have no interest in dragging you out of hiding. You have heard of Natasha joining the Avengers, no?"

Bruce watched the man's face carefully. Natasha once told him about some telltale signs of anxiety. She was quick to tell him that there were no real tells for lying and that most of the ones that were talked about were urban myths, but anxiety was a completely different story. Alexei's mouth curved down slightly, and he drew his hands in his lap as if to make himself a smaller target. Bruce realized that it was one of the same actions he took when Natasha was mentioned.

"Yes."

"Who was Natasha to you?"

"It is a long story, dear girl." Alexei replied darkly, "And I don't know if I want to tell."

Bruce took a few slow breaths. He was getting irritated with the spy shit already, and they had only been at it for roughly a day. "Look. We just want to find her."

"May best if she's not found."

"Don't give me that shit." Bruce banged the table, causing everyone else in the room to jump, fearing what he would do if he turned.

"Banner—" Steve warned, but Bruce paid no mind.

"Your safety won't be an issue if you keep this up. I want to know everything you know and—" Bruce froze, "—What is this song?"

Alexei blinked at the sudden change of subject, "Wh—"

"This song." It was what Natasha hummed constantly when they saw the sunset—when she was training him—manipulating him. He desperately wanted to know where it came from, like it would suddenly solve all the mysteries that plagued him.

"It's from a ballet. It was never produced."

"About?"

"I don't think this is important, Banner."

Bruce didn't even turn towards Steve, "It is."

"It's from a ballet, it's about a girl sacrificing herself to a dragon. It was never produced because of an unfortunate incident. Three ballerinas were found murdered. The prima donna disappeared entirely. It was decided that it was bad luck."

"When was this?"

"1956." He shook his head, putting it in his hands, "All this time, I thought she was dead."

"Who?"

"My wife. The prima donna. My Nat came home every night until she didn't. Word spread about the murders but no one was looking for Natalia. I saw her on the news when your organization went up in flames—I couldn't believe it—my Natasha, alive and well."

Everyone in the room was silent after that statement. For the first time, Bruce noticed the framed photograph that rested face down in the evenings. Wanda passed it to him wordlessly. In black and white, clearly pictured was Natasha Romanoff high on her toes with an arm outstretched and a lively smile on her face. Something was written in Russian at the bottom, followed by 1955. She looked twenty or so, defying all logic.

"This is impossible." Bruce murmured, running a hand through his hair.

"I imagine they take her for a reason." Alexei's voice suddenly seemed very far away. There was nothing about this on Natasha's file. There was no indication of anything out of the normal, aside from being a trained Russian Operative and assassin. Nothing. Bruce took the photo out of the frame. It was aged convincingly enough. He couldn't find a twist or trick straight away.

"It appears Natasha had more secrets than we thought." Wanda plucked the photograph from Bruce's slackened hands, "We find out—where was the theater where they produced that ballet, Mr. Shostakov?"

Bruce was already out the door before he could hear the answer. Natasha had YET ANOTHER thing to explain to him the moment they (he) found her.

* * *

Up en pointe, Natalia rose and around and around she went.

On the floor, Natasha misses her cue to smoothly rise.

There's nothing like a fall to wake someone up.

 **Okay, guys, things are about to get really weird, but I promise, there's a point. I've actually thought this through, even if it doesn't look like it right now. Reviews are like cookies! And I like cookies!**


	6. What if for me you feel a special pain?

**Kay, guys, I told you this all would be weird. Hopefully, things will unravel the way I want them to. Thank you all for the reviews! They're much appreciated.**

Natasha threw up again. She thought that the poison would work, but Natalia never made it that easy for her.

"Why did you do this?" Natalia demanded. She always had something to fight for. It was why she pushed Bruce.

"Why? Why not?" Natasha replied mockingly. She always had something to protect. It was why she pushed Bruce.

The Red Room is calling.

* * *

Before

Alexei Shostakov was a simple man of simple means. He was young and beautiful and knew it. Women liked his blond hair, his bright blue eyes, his sturdy and tall build but he had no intention of marrying any of them. In fact, by all accounts, he was a total narcissist that failed to see beauty in the ugly. His vanity was what drew Natalia to him originally.

Her handler suggested that she let him court her for the sake of appearances. It made sense for a ballerina to be attracted to a vain pilot like Alexei. He was acceptable but a little on the dumb side of things, which made Natalia think that it would be easy to control him. It would be easy to slip away and do her job the way she was supposed to. She made it difficult for him. She knew when to tease and when to withdraw. What was shocking was the fact that he actually did love her. He loved her so much that he proposed to her two years after they met, and two months before she received her first leading role in a ballet. It was perfection, but perfection was an illusion stained by bloody slippers and aching muscles. Perfection was the way she could slip into diplomat's hotels and strangle them wordlessly. Perfection was his hand on her waist when they kissed—no.

Alexei called her Natasha when he loved her.

He called her witch when he thought she was sleeping with other men.

He called her his darling when he realized his mistake.

Natasha felt her heart thaw at such words.

Natalia felt hers ice over.

* * *

Before

Bruce found himself lying on the ground shivering. It happened again. He hated it when it happened. He rose up on shaking hands. He waited for Natasha to show disgust. Of course, it never came. Instead, she knelt by his side and wrapped a thick gray blanket around him.

"You did good. It was easy. You—he practically walked up to me and waited to sleep."

She gave him a gentle, affectionate squeeze, and continued to ride with him all the way back to Stark's tower with her arm wrapped around his shoulders.

Bruce wanted to knock himself upside the head.

Love doesn't work. He almost tore Betty apart and they loved each other dearly. He checked up on her recently. She's living the life she dreamed of without him and she deserved every bit of happiness she could find. That involved Bruce never talking to her again. He couldn't mistake Natasha's conditioning, her scientific and psychological fascination with his polarizing mental states, and her desire to minimize risk and damage for affection. He couldn't mistake her efforts to help and understand him as anything other than what it was. He doesn't know why the Other Guy listens to Natasha but he's almost sure that it's not love. His life wasn't in a fairytale. In a fairytale, the curse is broken. In reality, it is a condition poorly managed by a fellow murderer.

"So it's a far different scenario." Natasha spoke as she was perched on his workbench. He was very aware of the fact that everyone knew she was the only one allowed to do that. "But I wonder about installing a failsafe in a normal mind. Wake up call, lullabies, whatever, a word or phrase connected with an idea could help with stuff like mind control." Immediately, Bruce's mind went to Clint Barton. It made sense that Natasha would worry about it, from what he knew about them, "Maybe it could help, better than a sharp knock to the head. It's just a theory of course."

Natasha was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. He had always known it, but he hadn't really acknowledged it before then. He was the scientist and she was the spy. They were opposites but her mind worked in ways that intersected with that of his, even if it was on a completely different subject. Although, another brilliant part of Natasha was that she realized that all subjects were interconnected in the world.

That was the first time he wanted to kiss her.

Instead he said this: "In another life, you would have made an excellent psychiatrist or neurologist."

"Thank you." She seemed genuinely pleased by the compliment, "I'm not just a pretty face, you know." She tapped her nose, "I've got two."

Bruce's mind stuttered for a moment and then he decided that the best thing to do was to tease her, "Well uh, should I just start dropping random words and phrases around you?"

"No one else but you." Natasha touched his knee with her foot before sliding down, "I'm getting tea. Wait for me and I'll come back."

Bruce frowned. She could be so bossy.

* * *

Before

Natalia wasn't thinking of Alexei or ballet as she lay on a cold metal table, staring up at the ceiling above her and the concrete of the walls of the side. Dr. Yenin wore a mask as if she had the possibility of carrying a dangerous contagion. In reality, it was quite possible, "Your blood levels seem normal. You are in top physical shape. You are a perfect subject in all respects." He waited for a reply that wouldn't come, "This will—I'm afraid this will hurt a lot."

"I'm used to pain, doctor."

"Yes—yes I bet you are." He pierced her neck with the needle, and stepped back, staring at her objectively as she convulsed, "Don't worry. If you die, your husband will mourn your young and tragic death, which will immortalize you far better than anything I can provide." There. Was. So. Much. Blinding. Pain. The doctor chuckled, carrying on with his one sided conversation, "This will take a few hours. I have some poetry I read sometimes. It's amazing what a woman will do to remain young forever, don't you think? There are many who would die for it."

"How—ah—many?" Natalia asked through gritted teeth.

"Well if you don't make the night, you'll be number one hundred and twenty. How about some Konstantin Simonov. You must have been a little girl when he wrote this one-1942, now how old were you?"

Natalia didn't reply. She was six and her parents were killed in a bombing of Stalingrad. Those were not things to linger on.

The pain wasn't unbearable. Natalia just made a room in her mind where she put the pain. It was a royal blue room with white trimmings. Natasha liked the color; she found it soothing. That was part of the problem. It was easy for the part of her that loved Alexei to crawl to a place where she couldn't feel it. The only thing left was Natalia the next day. Dr. Yenin was excitedly babbling, something silly about money, when Natalia picked up pipe knocked him over the head with it. She cleaned up everything relating to this discovery and took it to the Red Room. She dumped her own file in the fire and waited until nothing remained.

Nothing of her should exist.

Yet, for some reason, she couldn't destroy the picture lovingly kept by Alexei. She left the night three ballerinas were found splayed on the stage next to each other. Her handler told her that she was extremely volatile in her current state, being prone to unnecessary violence. Natalia didn't see the difference between the violence her handler told her to partake in and the violence that she participated in anyway. Why did she let Alexei live, let alone keep the photograph when he was no longer useful? It was easier to explain her reasoning behind killing the ballerinas, after first putting glass in everyone else's toe shoes the day of the dress rehearsals.

Why?

Why not?

* * *

They had just gotten off the train when Natasha realized how truly close they were. Without even thinking about it, she drew Yelena away from the station. Yelena followed close behind her on the boardwalk as they walked by the river. Natasha turned and pulled a knife. For a moment she imagined Yelena with her throat cut. The image trembled and disappeared. Yelena's eyes were wide with horror as Natasha put the knife in her little hands, "Kill me. That is an order."

"Tattie—"

"Now."

Yelena drove the knife through and under the ribcage just the way she was taught. She stepped away before blood could stain her clothing. Natasha thought she was a good girl before the instinct to survive took over. Natalia never made it that easy for her. She was running, stumbling, throwing ice over her wound to keep it numbed as she ran away. She would kill the damn brat later—

Natasha woke up gasping. Only, she wasn't waking up, she was already awake and hiding—hiding from—oh right—. _She_ had been so close to reaching them. Extracting the information from Yelena had been so stupidly easy. If she had been promised a better life when she was eleven, Natasha would have taken it just as seriously as Yelena did. Natasha wasn't lying though. She wanted Yelena to have the life she never had a chance of getting. She wanted her to grow old, surrounded by a family that Clint and Laura could provide her. Only, Natalia didn't want any of that. She wanted to get to the Red Room like a sick horse trying to limp home at any cost.

Including Yelena.

Yelena heaved open the door and found Natasha crouching in the corner, barely able to move. "Tattie, what should I do?"

"Be a dear and shoot me in the head." She had to stop her.

The gun clicked. "It's jammed, Tattie—what's—"

"Toss me in the river." She didn't know which one of her was speaking anymore. "You know where to go—Clint—right?"

Yelena nodded sullenly. Natasha didn't fight or help when Yelena lifted her and dragged her out of the fisherman's shed and towards the rail. A little burst of energy went through her, along with the panic, but she used it to help Yelena as she hauled her over the bridge.

Natasha hit the frozen water and it felt like a million little knives puncturing her skin. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep. She was in her blue room, where nothing could touch her.

Then Natalia's eyes sprung open and the banks of the river didn't seem so far after all. Did Natasha really think it would be that easy to get rid of her?

Natalia had to find the Red Room. They were the only ones that could save her.

* * *

"After I go in, find Clint Barton, he's Hawkeye. He's associated with the Avengers. He's your new handler, Lena. Give him the papers."

 **Also the poet the scientist mentioned is a real Russian poet. The chapter title comes from one of his poems. I did my homework-well not my actual homework, but still. I love you all! (Don't throw too many rocks at me).**


	7. White Swan, Drenched In Blood

**Thank you all for the reviews! I think this chapter will clear up a lot of confusion and the backstory of Bruce/Natasha is getting much closer to the second Avengers now. I hope you enjoy! If not, do tell me.**

Before

Natasha had been gone on and off for a long time, sometimes barely making it to the tower for months at a time. She always came back though. Bruce figured that it operated well as a home base that was almost completely outside of the influence of SHIELD and within the influence of a childish billionaire with a flare for the extraordinary. Bruce wondered how covert any of Natasha's operations could be if Tony posted about her in social media. Then she seemed to drop off the earth for several months. He didn't want to admit it, but it worried him, not being able to contact her when things went south and not being able to hear if she was even safe.

Then, suddenly, all at once, everything flooded the Internet and suddenly her face was in the last place she likely wanted it: The News.

When she returned, she didn't mention any of it, and instead made a beeline to the balcony. Bruce inferred that he was meant to follow from this. Her hair was longer, a little lighter, and parted down the middle. He wasn't sure if he liked it all that much.

"Don't worry, I'm hacking it off tomorrow." She twisted a corner of her flattened hair around her finger, "So I'm officially unemployed for like, life now."

"You seem to be taking it well." Bruce commented dryly.

Natasha seemed as unshakable as always. The only thing he could think of doing to shake her up was turn, and even that lasted only for a moment before he blacked out and the other guy took over. Then suddenly, he's being talked down by a few gentle words. Bruce realized that he hadn't really been paying attention but Natasha hadn't said anything anyway. She held out her hand like she did during their exercises and during the first and second times he turned. Slowly, Bruce eased forward to touch it, but instead of the usual ritual, she laced her fingers with his.

"Have you seen it all?"

Bruce shook his head and proceeded to lie through his teeth." No, it really wasn't any of my business—"

"A lot of it isn't true." Natasha spoke quietly, "The only accurate files are the ones from my exploits with SHIELD. What I did before was far, far worse.. I wish my monsters were as easy to identify as yours." She smirked, "But that's not anything to linger on." She tugged her hand away, and Bruce almost protested the lack of physical contact. "It's good that you haven't transformed at all while I was gone, even for Tony's amusement."

Bruce thought that using the Other Guy to change the subject was a bit of a low blow, but he shared the sentiment. There was some selfish part of him that liked how exposed she was. She wouldn't be running away anytime soon; Tony's likely to have recruited her already and Bruce felt like he could breathe again, Everything was less likely to get out of hand when she was here.

"So should I call you Natalia then?"

"No!" Natasha's answer was unexpected and sharp, "I'm Natasha. I'm always Natasha, do you understand?" She wasn't looking at him, but at the sunset, clutching the bar so hard that her knuckles showed. "They call me Natalia and that is not my name."

"Erhm okay." She looked back at him, blinking as if seeing him for the first time. Then she smiled and Bruce tried for ages to figure out what he'd said right.

* * *

Natalia barely drug herself on shore before she passed out again, the last things she saw were boot prints on the ground. Once, her body would've been able to take this kind of damage and still manage to walk upright and out of danger until she could stop to sew herself up again, and let her injuries knit together with no lasting difficulties. Natasha let her go without maintenance and rot like a corpse in the ground. Perhaps, with all the new technology, she thought that she would never have to take another hit of Dr. Yenin's serum again. How foolish.

* * *

When Natalia was a little girl chained to the bed, she pretended like she was in a box. In that box were the memories of her family, things like her brothers throwing snow or her father bringing home fish wrapped in the previous day's newspaper. She put her tears in that box, and her sadness painted it blue. It kept her from crying out loud like the other girls. She also put the bombings, the aches and pains from the training before, and watching a girl get dragged away from her in the box. There was no time for feeling in such a cold place.

She was eleven when a new trainer climbed on top of her and covered her mouth to muffle screams she was trained not to let out. That was the day the blue box became a blue room, fitting to offset the Red Room Academy, meant to shape her into a monster with a pretty ballerina for a cover. When she was twenty, her handler told her to participate in Dr. Yenin's experiment. Slowing her age and increasing her strength forced her to put Alexei in her blue room too. The name Natasha was left there too. They were left alone but they were never forgotten.

When Natalia was weak, Natasha could sneak out, but she never did for very long until she met Clint. Then she slammed the door on Natalia and locked it. She thought she had taken over permanently. That was until Natasha pushed Bruce. Something about that moment caused the whispers to return, and her perceptions to blur once more.

In a blue room, Natasha and Natalia stared at each other. Their faces were the same. Their hair was the same. Their expressions held the same calculating look. The only thing that was different was their clothing. Natasha wore her black uniform proudly. Natalia wore a white, flouncing dress stained in blood. Natasha never got the chance to look at her counterpart so objectively. She never had the luxury of Bruce's _very_ distinct differences leaving outside accounts. Most people didn't notice Natasha and Natalia because Natasha and Natalia were so similar, resulting in both of them being very capable of being subtle when the wanted to be.

"So I see you've redecorated." Natasha looked around and found that the wallpaper had been clawed at and the door had been beaten with a blunt object—likely the lamp.

"You locked me in this hellhole for six years."

"As opposed to decades?" Natasha folded her arms.

"It's your fault for not going away."

"Who says that you were first?"

"Common sense. You didn't even have a name until I married Alexei." Natalia laid her head against the sofa leisurely.

"You married him but I loved him." Came Natasha's retort.

"This is my head."

"We could argue that until we die but that doesn't change the fact that there are two of us struggling and only one of us can get out of this." Natasha knew that reasoning with Natalia was difficult at best, so she decided to add something worth more."So we're dying."

"We've merely been rendered unconscious, idiot."

"Unconscious with a stab wound and hypothermia. I'm pretty sure that if we're both here, that means we really are about to go."

"I saw something you didn't see!" Natalia mocked her cheerfully, "Don't you just love how that can still happen? Like how you've got that silly little blue box you won't let me see." Natasha didn't reply, souring Natalia's joy a little bit. "A Red Room doctor, coming to patch us up. "I love this. We haven't gotten to see each other face to face since Clint Barton fished you out. I don't regret letting you take over. It's been fun to let you think you've been making your own decisions and that you had complete control."

The walls around them seemed to rattle. Natasha rose, running for the door, but Natalia pushed past her and locked the door behind her. Natasha walked back to sit on the chaise lounge, picking up her box and placing on her lap where it was safe. She already knew that the Red Room would save them. They would want to use Natalia Romanova, but at the end of the day, that was one thing that Natasha and Natalia could agree on: The Red Room would go up in smoke the moment they could move freely.

 **So I just like the idea of Natasha and her previous self being so different that they are two warring personalities, almost like Bruce and The Hulk.**


	8. A Little Girl With A Gun

**Whaaaaahhh! Finals are coming up and everyone's panicking-oh wait, I'm not because I've kept my grades way up all semester, know what's going on, and could totally bomb everything and still get a pass. So what am I doing? Haha, still studying and writing another chapter, of course!**

The chat with Alexei Shostakov was interesting at best and absolutely world shattering at it's worst. Bruce bolted out into the snow with no real sense of where he was going. He always worried about his place in the world and his place next to Natasha for a multitude of reasons, but he never imagined that she was more of an outsider than he was. One of the things he told himself when he left was that she was better off without him. He assumed that what Natasha had weighing her down was reversible. She was completely human after all. There was some part of him that thought that seeing a psychiatrist, meeting some nice normal man and adopting children was all that Natasha needed if she would only just leave her uniform and her ledger at the door. He thought it would be an easier, cleaner exit from her, simply because she looked the part.

Natasha was not Betty. She was just as lost in the world and he refused to see past his own nose. Married? Natasha was married? She danced in a ballet in Soviet Russia and the rest of Europe until she disappeared in a blood bath? He didn't feel angry—well he did, he was always angry—but he felt a little dead inside. He stood up as straight as he could after years of trying to make himself smaller. He would find Natasha. They were going to try to make sense of all of this together.

Maybe they couldn't run away together to Calcutta but he'd at least be able to properly breathe again if she was there. He didn't hope that she felt the same, he just wanted her with him again. Even if she was all lies and manipulation, he wished he had never left.

The ballet company was a dead end. Bruce spent a week pacing back and forth. Nothing was happening. The whole of Russia, let alone the world, was an enormous place for a spy that didn't want to be found.

"Nat's back!" Clint ran into the room, startling everyone, "She's on the grid again, contacted me and everything, I know where she is."

"Couldn't that be a trap?"

"Do you care, Wanda?"

Wanda thought for a moment before shaking her head, "Let's go find Natasha."

* * *

A small figure waited for them, shrouded in mist and snow.

A little girl with a pale face and shocking red hair sat on the rail overlooking a river. Her hair whipped around her in the snowy wind, long and loose. Her eyes were the same color as the Other Guy's skin. They were fixed on Barton. Her fur lined hood was down but she paid no attention to the cold. Beside her was a long rifle. Barton stepped forward, and Bruce supposed that made sense. He was the only one of them that had kids.

"Tattie said that you wouldn't even consider killing me, even if I tricked you to get you here." She jumped down from the rail and steadily walked forward, "She said that the archer is my new handler." Her English had a tinted and tinny sound to it, like she spent a long time working on intonation but never actually used it in a setting with English speakers.

Clint warily drew close to her, kneeling to accommodate for her height, "Tattie—you mean Natasha?"

The girl nodded and repeated, "She said you're my new handler." Bruce thought his heart died a little, "She said that you could help me like you helped her. She said Peru—and Budapest." She drew a bundle of papers held together by a rubber band and gave them to Clint.

"What's your name?'

"Yelena." Her eyebrows knitted together for a moment before she spoke up again "I want to be Lena—Tattie—no _Natasha_ said I could."

Clint held his hand out to Lena. It reminded Bruce of the way that Natasha held out her hand to his. Bruce watched in fascination as a number of emotions subtly flickered across an otherwise schooled face. She was too young to behave like that. Her mouth finally curved upward slightly, and she reached out to take his hand, shaking it like they had completed a transaction. Lena stepped back, biting her lip.

"I specialize in razor wire."

"—That won't be necessary, Lena."

"Spying then?"

"Lena—"

"We can settle this later." Wanda cut in, "Tell me, now. Where is Natasha."

Lena frowned, shaking her head, "No."

"Lena, you must tell us—"

"I didn't want to—I didn't—she didn't—she told me to." Lena bit back everything else, "I didn't know—she was acting odd—"

"What is it?" Bruce decided that it was a good time to speak up.

Lena looked at him like it was the first time she noticed him, "You're the green man."

"Well—not right now but yes—"

"You weren't supposed to be here." She said flatly, "She said you'd be angry."

"Lena, I'm your handler right?" Clint waited for the nod, "Tell me where Natasha is and if she's okay." Lena glanced warily at Bruce. The feeling he had was a sinking one, "No, no, no—Bruce isn't going to hurt you. No one here is going to hurt you. No one wants to."

"You will. I didn't want to. She was nice. She let me get chocolate." Lena's face became expressionless again, "Read the papers, please. Don't say anything out loud."

"What happened?" Bruce asked. He hated it when people omitted anything because he operated under the assumption that something went horribly, horribly wrong. Natasha could have been sick or kidnapped. What turned out to be the case was much, much worse.

"I stabbed her and threw her in the river."

Bruce didn't even remember changing.

* * *

Natalia blinked up at the ceiling and let her head lull over to see a bag of fluids being transferred to a tube inserted in her arm.

"Welcome back, Natalia. It's been a long time."

"Still alive, Ivan?" She laughed despite the pain. It was a relief. Her old handler was still alive.

"Is that disappointing to you?"

"No—it really isn't. I am so glad to see you." Natalia wished she could get up from the table and claw his eyes out, yet another part of her wished that she could embrace him. He was always a solid and familiar figure in her long life. "Why did you save me?"

"My dear girl—"

"No lies, Ivan. I need to know what you want."

"Why?"

"How can I get it for you if I don't know what it is? The other one is gone for now. She's locked up but I need to figure out how to get rid of her."

"That can wait. You must get better, Tattie."

"Tattie—I missed that name."

"It was special—just for you."

"Just for me." Natalia muttered before another wave of pain overtook her.

* * *

Clint immediately knew to take Lena far, far away from Bruce as he convulsed on the ground. Lena was already several yards away, running very fast and gracefully for a girl practically running across solid ice. Steve and Wanda were already in action, providing a very flimsy barrier between the growing Hulk and the girl. Clint didn't know if he really wanted to keep her out of harm's way, but the situation gave him no time to ponder it. He dragged her into the car and slammed the door shut behind her. He started it, and hit the gas.

"Careful on the ice—"

"Shut up!" Clint needed a moment to think. Finally, he came up with a decent question. "What happened? No omissions, no bullshit, no nothing."

Lena stared out the windshield, "She said if I helped her, I'd be free. I wouldn't have to listen to my Red Handler anymore. I didn't believe her. I really didn't. It was a trap or a trick and I knew it—but then she started being nice. She let me buy dessert at a restaurant—they never let me do that. Never. I thought it was a trick but it was a nice trick. But she knew I'd think that. She knew and let me, I think. All she did was talk about you—all of you. How her life was not secret anymore. How she had a family to protect at any cost. She let me get chocolate at a train stop."

Lena spoke calmly, staring ahead even as she spouted such sentimental words. That was a tell of Natasha's in those first hard months after he found her. It was a little off putting at first, but Natasha said things that she meant in a blank and expressionless tone. Any frown, smile, laugh or cry, no matter how genuine it seemed, was an act. For a long time, Natasha was a blank slate. Lena was the same to an extent, but she didn't have so many years of conditioning and brainwashing under her belt. Clint snorted. Apparently with Natasha there were many _more_ years than anyone ever thought. That was still a trip. Clint tried to get himself to refocus on Lena. Her eyes widened slightly when she heard a crash and a roar.

"I—he wasn't supposed to be here." Lena turned towards the sound of the violence, "Natasha said he was taking a break from world." A flash of panic came over her face and she clutched her head, " _The_ world. _The_ world—articles—"

"Shh—it's okay. No one's grading your grammar, Lena. Can you tell me for certain that Natasha is dead?"

"It's highly—"

"Did you drag her out of the river, check her pulse, and cut off her head?"

"Well no—"

"Then we operate under the assumption that she's alive and we keep you away from Banner until he's in a more—reasonable—state. Why did she ask you to kill her?"

Lena looked at him, and he found himself taken back by her eyes, even as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. They were so empty and full at the same time. They were intense at the same time that they were dulled over. Six years ago, those were Natasha's eyes.

"Because she's like him." Lena pointed in the direction of another roar. "There's two minds fighting where one should go. "The nice one is not in control anymore—she was starting to really take over by the time she met me—at least I think that's what's going on."

Clint slammed on the breaks, sliding to a stop. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Natasha's not in control."

"What, like she's under mind control?"

"—No." Lena's eyebrow furrowed, "I think _Natasha_ is the mind control."

Another roar—did it sound anguished? Perhaps. Clint sighed, pressing his forehead against the wheel, "She's not dead."

"No—it would have been better—"

"She's not dead." Clint repeated slowly, "That's all we need right now." He plucked up the communicator, "Steve? Steve—we've got—Natasha's not dead."

"What? Really?"

"Really. Think you could try passing along the message? Maybe you should try the sun's getting low thing—or whatever."

Natasha is the mind control? What the hell did that even mean?

 **I adore reviews! Good reviews, bad reviews, indifferent reviews, doesn't really matter. My self esteem depends on validation from people on the Internet I don't know. Not really, but reviews are still nice!**


	9. Wait for me and I'll come back

**Here's a little more today. Thank you for all the reviews! I love it when you do that! This story keeps writing and rewriting itself in my mind like a runaway train, so it might take a little longer between chapters now.**

Steve stared at the monster that was once Dr. Banner, ripping up the rail that covered that stretch of the river and throwing it, slinging it into a random building. "Hey—hey!" Steve ducked, narrowly avoiding being hit by a bench, "It's okay, Big Guy—" He was pretty sure Natasha said that and the hint of recognition told him it was the right thing to say, "Sun's getting—" Steve was thrown into the side of a building. Apparently it only worked for Natasha. "Look, Tasha's tough—she's going to be okay—"

It wasn't helping. Nothing was helping. Wanda's presence was making him even angrier and it seemed like there was nothing he could do. Then somehow, the Hulk barreled past him and into the streets of the city.

* * *

Before

She noticed.

Of course she did. She must have, with all of her experience monitoring human behavior. Yet instead of recoiling in disgust, which was what he expected (and ultimately dreaded) or openly encouraging it (an obvious sign that she was going to try and use it to her advantage) she let him maintain some semblance of dignity. In other words, she ignored it. It was a greater kindness than Bruce expected. He refused to let himself interpret it as anything more.

Being out in the open had an odd effect on Natasha. He thought she would feel bare and exposed but she appeared more relieved than anything else. She was busy, running around a lot between trials and figuring out who in the world the remainder of SHIELD had to answer to and coming up with the next game plan. She revealed to him one night that she was planning on rebuilding SHIELD as a part of the public sector. He was too busy staring at her—more specifically her lips. He blinked.

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm rebuilding SHIELD as a public program. They've recognized that we've served a role that is kind of—well crucial to this whole 'life on Earth' thing."

"You're taking the career change very well. Less spying and—erhm—assassining—" Her eyebrow raised, "Assassinating, that's the word—er, sorry, and more public representative and figurehead stuff." She was probably questioning his intelligence at that point, but it was just difficult to focus for some reason.

"It's easier." Natasha took that moment to hold out her hand. It was part of the routine, but he didn't do the usual "handshake" that they developed. Instead, despite all the protests ringing in his head ( _rejection—the other guy—monster—I'm a lot older than her—dorky—)_ he clasped her hand. She didn't visibly react, "I'm an open target. Don't have to worry so much about how much people know about me—don't have to dye my hair. Can't just be "disappeared" if I ever outlive perceived usefulness. Spying is—hard. It's what I'm best at—well aside from killing—but it's hard, Bruce."

This felt like an incredibly personal conversation and he was afraid that something he said would shut her down entirely. Instead, he simply squeezed her hand. She looked at him, cocking her head to the side as if she had never truly seen him before. Something seemed to shift.

Later that week, she sat with a paperback with its spine painfully twisted to accommodate her and wasn't even looking at him when he came in and sat down next to her. She held out her hand palm up. Without hesitation, he took it and pulled up some blueprints Tony wanted him to look up on the in table. They sat that way in silence for several hours. It was a simple and oddly domestic evening only a few days before things went to Hell, which were partially his fault (everyone seemed to forget that he helped after all) and not the Other Guy that time around.

Natasha didn't tell him it wasn't his fault in part for being roped into Tony's insanity. She didn't seem to lie to him anymore, but that would have been one lie that he would've liked to hear. Bruce remembered clearing his throat, ruining the moment. Her hand slid away from his and retreated into her lap. She was waiting for him to say something.

"You look like a college student, perched like that with a book."

"I never went to college." She replied flatly.

Bruce felt like he had stumbled into the exact wrong thing to say, "I uh—sorry."

"I didn't do any of that stuff. Middle school, high school, none of that. It was all just—" She paused for a moment, "What would you be doing right now if you never—"

"Fucked myself up majorly?"

"I was going to say created your Hulk persona, but that too."

"I would still be researching. I'd still be a scientist or something. You?"

She tipped her head back, "If I lived a normal life—one without the Red Room—I'd be dead."

Bruce shook his head, "I don't think it'd be that bad but—" the next words tumbled out of his mouth before he could retrieve them, "—I wouldn't have met you if I was normal."

Natasha placed her book to the side and shifted to get closer to Bruce. For a moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe as she lay against his shoulder and laced her hand around his forearm before leaving her fingers atop his wrist. He was acutely aware of every point where her body touched his. It felt so intimate and secretive that Bruce feared that someone would accidentally walk in and Natasha would come to her senses and break away from him. No one came. Her breathing was slow and Bruce purposely slowed his breathing to match hers. It was barely a whisper.

"I would've taught dance."

* * *

"Stop and turn around." Lena ordered. Clint almost laughed. She sounded just like Natasha when she said that.

"Are you crazy?"

"No." Lena turned and saw the fast approaching green monster, "Oh well. It's too late anyway.

They both ducked out and rolled from either side of the car as an angry fist crushed it. Clint tumbled into the snow, getting a mouthful of it and the dirt it covered. By the time he stood and turned to drag Lena away, she was already in front of the Hulk, her hand outstretched. He found himself afraid to move because the Hulk seemed fixated on Lena the way he turned to Natasha for comfort.

"She said when the sun falls, you go to sleep." The Hulk bristled and twitched. Lena seemed to sense his frustration, "I know, she's not here right now—I want her here too. Believe me, I do." The Hulk roared and tried to smash Lena, but she ducked and rolled out of the way easily, "Wait for me and I'll come back!" He froze, "Wait for me and I'll come back!" Lena repeated, "You know these words? I do. She does. Natasha always comes back."

Clint watched in fascination as the Hulk turned and stumbled away. Lena fell to her knees, covering her face. Clint ran up to her, "What were you—what's wrong?"

"He's scary." Lena shook her head as if trying to banish the thought, "He's a monster that can't be killed." She looked like she was going to say something more, but they were interrupted by Bruce's voice, which sounding like a moan coming from the snow drift.

"Where is Tasha?"

* * *

"You caused our best pupil to defect." Ivan told her as he wrapped up her arm, smoothing out the gauze lovingly. Natalia supposed he missed his creation. She once accepted his orders without even flinching. He was the only one that could. Olga tried once, but found that Natalia was more likely to take liberties when she was under her care.

Natalia stifled a shudder at the feel of his cold hands on her skin, "Natasha was in control for most of that part. Why is she there? Why is she in my head?"

"We don't know." Ivan spoke softly. Natalia found that she almost missed his gruff voice.

"I want to get rid of her." Natalia told him as she followed him out of the room, "I want to get rid of her entirely."

"I know. The best thing to do is to go into your normal routine." He turned to look at her, cocking his head, "You know, the one you had before you went insane."

Natalia shook her head, "Everyone knows my face. Natasha made sure of it."

"Yes, but you can do something else to help the program along, darling." Ivan opened the door.

Somewhere, deep inside, Natasha was shouting and banging at a door in a nonexistent room that still existed nonetheless. She stared out at the rows of beds where girls lay sleeping. They all had the same type. Caucasian girls with lithe bodies and pretty faces, ranging from ages four to eleven. Natasha knew that the older girls were kept by age until they dwindled down to one or two recruits that would be used as full-blown operatives. It was a sick, sadistic process that created the most efficient of weapons and the worst of monsters.

Ivan saw none of this internal debate. He followed her eyes to the girl crying quietly. He made a note in his notebook. Natalia surmised that he still kept all of his records on paper. She could use that. She shut out Natasha's protests and turned towards Ivan, her face devoid of all expression.

"What is it that you want me to do?

"Oh that easy. Your experience cannot be wasted. You're the new dance teacher."

 **Tell me what you think!**


	10. Viktoriya

**This was produced in a major hurry. Enjoy (or not, it's your life). Don't own anything. Love you all. The usual.**

Natalia picked the lock when she wanted to stretch after everyone went to sleep. She raised her hands above her head, feeling her back pop and click. Slowly, she made her way across the room and picked another girl's lock as she slept. Wordlessly, Viktoriya sat up, blinking. They sat in silence, feeling a small measure of power in escaping the chains. Natalia was very aware that they could not make it far. There was a part of her that didn't want to. She knew she was safe among her known world. The instructors doted on her and the other girls feared her.

"You should at least try to leave." Natalia whispered at last, "That way, there's at least a chance—"

"I won't make it far." Viktoriya took her hand. Natalia instinctively flinched at the contact. Contact meant pain. Even if it didn't immediately hurt, Natalia knew it would eventually. Viktoriya was no different.

"There's no harm in trying at this point." Viktoriya shook her head, wrapping her arms around her knobby knees. Natalia saw no point in urging her further. Once a girl gave up, she decided to die. That was the way of the Red Room.

The next morning, Viktoriya was led away from the other girls. Natalia kept her eyes focused on the back of another girl's head as they stood for inspection. A gentle hand splayed against the small of her back. She didn't look up at the trainer. He had a strange way of showing affection for her and she didn't like it. Natalia still didn't flinch when she heard the gun go off.

"Viktoriya will no longer be with us." Ivan spoke calmly and lightly as he walked in, storing the gun in a side holster, "She was an imperfect specimen. Unfortunately, one of her legs became longer than the other, causing her spine to twist. We have no use for that kind of deformity here."

Viktoriya was yet another thing to place in her blue room.

* * *

"Better form." Natalia barked at the girls sparring before her watchful eye.

Many things had changed since she was a little girl. They were trained in the art of hacking, of changing their identity through their electronic paper trails. One of the girls (a squirrely little blonde with weak arms) growled and bit the other one, causing her to shriek and push back, "Viktoriya, use your height."

The smaller brunette threw the blonde over her shoulder and pinned her. It was the part where she was supposed to call for a kill. It was the best way to weed out weaknesses like weak arms and slow minds. Ivan walked through the door, his notebook open and bent.

"All right, that's enough for now." Natalia clapped, causing the girls to separate. She crossed the hall to join Ivan, "What are you working on?"

"Fishing." Ivan replied.

"I'm not Natasha, Ivan." Natalia informed him solemnly, "I'm Natalia Romanova."

"Then tell Viktoriya to kill Alisa."

"Why? They're both useful."

"But we only need one."

"You're being illogical, Ivan." Natalia plucked his notebook from his hands and flipped through it, committing highlights of his notes to memory before he can steal it back, "Natasha ruined what I built."

"We shall fix what we can." Ivan rubbed the stubble growing on his chin.

Natalia stepped forward, rubbing her hand along his jawline. She felt his shudder. He couldn't help it, "I trust you. I've always trusted you. Please fix this. Please help me."

He seized her by her wrist, "You can start by ceasing this nonsense."

Natalia rolled her eyes at him, "If you wish. But I remember things differently—if you decide to remember properly, you know where to find me."

Ivan ignored her, "I think you should start with cutting out the infected flesh. Get rid of the life Natasha decided to live in your skin."

Natalia pondered this for a moment, "Her weaknesses."

* * *

Lena was a lot like Natasha, only she was more open and upfront about her feelings. Once the need for a blank face seemed to go, her look of terror at being tossed into the car next to Bruce was evident. He understood it. There was a part of him that still wanted to hurt her—break her—smash her—for ever hurting Natasha, but his more reasonable side reminded him over and over again that she was a victim of her environment. She didn't ask to be a part of any of this. So he patted her shoulder and ignored the way she flinched. Clint made his way to the safe house through the growing blizzard, barely able to follow the twists and turns Steve took ahead of them. Bruce tumbled out and was about to help Lena when she sprang past him and landed in the snow.

They walked in a sullen and windswept line until they felt the warmth of the house.

"Okay, we've got two twin beds and a sofa. Battle it out. Whoever loses gets a sleeping bag."

Lena wordlessly went ahead and took a sleeping back, laying it down in front of a wood pellet stove. She pulled off her boots and shrugged off her winter gear, hanging it to dry. Left over was the gun, a handgun of some sort, several combat knives and a long wire with a triangular handle at each end. Bruce noted that it was almost like ritual. Lena looked up, fully aware that he was watching.

Clint threw a sleeping bag at the back of his head, "You're on the floor too."

Bruce didn't really mind. He placed his sleeping bag a foot away from Lena's so that he could still be warm. He always felt cold after a transformation, and Russia was not helping at all. Lena acknowledged this by placing a single knife between them. They both knew it wouldn't do her any good, but it was a boundary that had to be marked. While everyone else settled and fell asleep, they remained awake.

She lay facing him, examining him like he was some sort of captive zoo animal. Lena held out her hand and poked the tip of his chin with her index finger, muttering something in Russian.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

She blinked. Her eyes were so big but they didn't look particularly innocent, "She said you're trustworthy." Her fingers curled away and rested a few inches away from his neck.

"Why do you trust her?" Bruce asked honestly. Why could Lena trust Natasha in a matter of days, when he _loved_ her and still wondered if he did the right thing in trusting her.

Lena closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, "I had to see what would happen if I did?"

"And?"

"I feel like I've escaped—even though we're so close—I feel like I'm—" Lena's eyebrows knitted together, "I don't know these words."

"I'm sorry I scared you." Bruce whispered, "I just want Natasha to be safe."

Lena rolled over, and pulled the blanket over her head, "You _are_ an idiot. That's what I said."

* * *

Inside her blue room, Natasha remained composed, despite the fact that Natalia was laughing. Natalia was lashing out again. When Natalia was happy, it would lead to destruction. Natasha wouldn't stand for that. So she sat there gripping her blue box with whitening knuckles.

"You've still got that box."

"You've got great powers of observation. I'm sorry. You really can't take a look." Natasha shook her head.

"I'm going to kill them all."

"No you won't."

"Clint and Laura Barton. Their lovely children, their baby boy. If he's still alive, I'll find Alexei Shostakov I'll cut his stomach open. Tony, Pepper, Steve, it doesn't matter. I'll get rid of them. I'll get rid of all of them."

"You won't, Natalia. I know you won't."

"Why not?!"

"Because it won't make you feel better. Just like killing those ballerinas didn't make you feel better."

"But it did. Why did they get to go home when I couldn't?"

Natasha shook her head. Natalia took the chance, leaping across the room and grabbing the box that was in her loosened grip. Natasha cried out as Natalia dumped its contents all over the floor. Natalia sat back. "Well that's a surprise."

"Natalia—"

Natalia tipped her head back and started laughing hysterically, uncontrollably. She felt like crying. She felt like falling apart. She felt like killing. She felt like hating. She felt like loving. She felt like the world had just handed her the answer to a question she had been asking since she took Ivan Petrovich's hand. Natasha's control paled in comparison to the chaos that Natalia could unleash. They were secrets better than nuclear codes, better than a thousand other ways to wipe life off earth, better than the simple act of leaving a painful mark on someone. Natasha was trying to bar the doors, to keep them both inside her mind where Natalia couldn't hurt anyone. That was almost as futile as when Natalia tried to convince the first Viktoriya to leave.

"What if we could kill Bruce Banner?"


	11. No Peace For The Wicked

**So this is a little short. Thank you for the reviews and I apologize. Things have been a little rough recently and fanfiction is something of a coping mechanism for me. I want you to know that I appreciate you for reading my stuff.**

"How could we not know all of this?" Steve was in utter disbelief, as Lena outlined her experiences with the Red Room.

Bruce was happy that he could see through her impassioned report into the girl who was terrified and probably thought that all of this would haunt her later. Even if things went well, she was right. They would come back. He leaned back with his arms crossed, listening to her describe killing a man with a garrote the first time they released her.

"I did as I was told."

"Then why did you defect?" Clint asked just as quickly.

"Natasha was a nicer person to tell me to do things." Lena replied just as easily, "Ivan is smart. He keeps everything in a notebook and everything else up there." Lena tapped her temple, "It's strange what he remembers. No official documentations, no computers. We're disconnected except when we need to develop necessary skill like bypassing firewalls. They use the girls no one wants. Sometimes they buy us."

Bruce shook his head, "But where is Natasha?"

"That depends." Lena's face crumpled, "On if she lived, if she found outside help, or if she was assisted by Ivan."

"She's not dead." Bruce muttered.

Lena realized her mistake, "No—no. You're right. She's not dead. They covered my head and released me in a hotel lobby. I was a rich man's bored daughter. I rode the elevators until the man at the desk told me to stop and go up to the suite. I entered mine, and removed the panel I cut into the room before. I slipped in, killed him, then slipped out."

"So you really don't know where the Red Room is?"

"—I have an idea. It's here—I've got an extraction point but I'd have to go alone."

Bruce could tell no one really liked the idea, including Lena herself. He would offer to go with her, but she still flinched when he got too close and the threat of him becoming the Hulk was not helpful.

"They already know you've defected." Clint pointed out, staring at the map that old them nothing at all.

"I know." Lena straightened up. "But I follow Natasha and I want to get her fixed."

* * *

Natasha was not going to go away. She couldn't just lie down and accept things like a normal person. If she had been normal, she would have never really existed. While Natalia was plotting destruction of—well everyone—Natasha remained to keep small secrets safe. Even though the secret she let out was potentially devastating to everything she thought she accomplished since meeting Clint, not to mention, very, very harmful to Bruce Banner, it kept Natalia away from the nuclear codes, at least until someone thought to change them.

That wasn't enough though. She was going to fight until it was just her mind and her body again. She wished Wanda never fucked with her mind and dragged Natalia from her sleep, but wishing wouldn't get her out. She had to think—and think separately from Natalia. She needed a good distraction. Yet again, that distraction had to be Bruce. Someday, if she got the chance, she would sit down and explain to him every decision she made with him (and not his true consent) in mind. For an additional layer of distraction, Natasha released a little ballerina/assassin in training, dancing on uneven legs. She could feel Natalia shudder.

"Bitch." Natalia seemed to say.

"You miss Viktoriya, Natalia. That is a start."

* * *

There is no peace for the wicked.

Natalia had never been one to read the Bible or participate in any religious event. They were illogical. However, Alexei and his family were, so she played her part. That line, spoken by got in the Book of Isaiah was the only one she could ever remember. There is no rest for people like her and there is no hope for peace as long as she remained awake. She accepted that long ago, or so she thought as she waited.

The last night Natalia got with Alexei, she decided to wear her white dress from dress rehearsals home. It was a beautiful dress that made her look like she was flying, like a Greek Goddess descending to the human realm just for cheap entertainment. She pulled off her coat and settled at the corner of the bed, watching the way the skirt floated around her. She knew that she was allowed to have flights of fancy for a night.

The door was slammed so hard that the entire flat seemed to rattle. Natalia had been sitting, brushing her long hair to put in a braid for the night but she paused upon seeing Alexei's slouch. The scent of vodka and whiskey wafted through the air as he turned sluggishly.

"You're home." It sounded like it was more than a statement, but Natalia found that she couldn't decipher exactly what he meant.

"Of course I'm home, Alexei. I've been waiting for you. I thought you'd be home tonight as well—"

She was cut off by Alexei suddenly falling to his knees before her, taking her hands into his own. Natalia resisted the urge to flinch. That was one of the first things they taught her. Even if she knew pain was coming, she shouldn't flinch. A flinch gave away too much information, "What did I do?" His eyes shone with bleary drunken tears.

"Alexei—"

"What did I do wrong, Natasha?" He kissed her hands, palms first, "I work as hard as I can training for a war that won't happen—and I'm so sorry I can't do much more—the rations aren't working, this whole system isn't—anyway, I'm sorry and I can fix this."

Natalia shook her head, puling her hands away, "I'm not following."

"You're not happy, Natasha. Tell me how I can fix it—we can get out of here—we could go to England or America if you wanted, I know you'd like that—"

"I am happy." Natalia held his face in her hands, feeling something twist and break inside of her. She pulled him close, letting him rest his head on her lap as she ran her hand through his greasy hair, petting him much like she would a dog, "This is the happiest I've ever been. I am home."

He looked up at her so reverently that what twisted and broke was suddenly a bundle of nerves surrounded by swelling body tissue. It hurt.

"I love you." He said.

"I love you too." She said.

It hurt like getting the serum.

Like hearing Viktoriya die.

Natalia leaned over and kissed him. She helped him into bed and slid in next to him, facing away as per usual. In the morning, she got up and buttered some bread for them both for breakfast. Alexei kissed her on the cheek before she raced out the door to catch the one bus that ran through their neighborhood.

Natalia never came home.

She was always running after that. That was, until Natasha wrapped an anchor around her neck and slung it to Clint and then eventually to the rest of the Avengers.

The greatest betrayal was still Bruce Banner though.

How could Natasha forget so easily?


	12. One Foot In Front Of the Other Foot

**I'm posting these chapters at the speed of light it seems like. I have some sort of weird manic obsession with this.** **Major end of the semester existential crisis where I questioned the whole "spending my free time writing fanfiction" bit when I'm about to graduate high school and go to college. I feel like everyone's looking over my shoulder and asking when I'm going to write "real stuff" when I don't even want to be an English major. Undeclared for the win. Sorry about the rant. Anyway, here's another chapter!**

We never will forget, and no, we will not forgive

We fought hard not to die, yet we don't know how to live

How do we change our world to what we want it to be?

How do we move beyond all of this misery?

-One Foot In Front of The Other Foot by Emilie Autumn

* * *

"I had two brothers." Natalia said once, "I barely remember them though. We'd race, but they never let me win. Not for a second. They told me I should just run faster. They died in a bombing. Germans."

"Mine too." Alexei took her hand in his, "But we cannot be bitter, darling. It is over. Now come to bed."

"What would you not forgive, Alexei?" She turned towards him, her eyes wide and sad. When had they become that way? Or had he never seen it, "Anything that would take you away from me. You?"

"Anyone who would take me away from you." Her hand clenched his so tightly that he wondered if she could crush his fingers.

* * *

Alexei Shostakov had many happy memories, but none came in the three years after his Natalia disappeared. In that time, he became an angry man, sustaining his life on vodka and whatever else he could find in his Soviet shithole of a country. When he drank so much to forget, he could only forget the bad things. Without all the fights, the screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors and the arguments over money, it was painfully sweet to be left with the happy memories of his young wife.

After three years though, he woke up from his drunken haze to realize that the world had moved on. The husbands and lover of the slaughtered ballerinas from that night pitied him because he never got the closure that burying a body provided. Two of them remarried. The lover hanged himself. Both options seemed out of the question for Alexei. Instead, he threw himself into his work and didn't look up until the Cold War ended, the country he worked for was dissolved, and the face Natalia loved was ruined.

The knowledge that she left him should have angered him, but all it did was bring him relief. All this time he thought she had been brutally murdered. She was alive. That's what mattered. He read the information about her that was leaked on the Internet and found it confusing due to the age thing, but it brought him a small explanation. That was until an angry pacifist, Captain America, and a Sokovian witch showed up. He followed them. The archer/sniper (he never got the name of the man hanging out on his neighbor's roof) noticed but said nothing. The angry pacifist—Bruce Banner—grew into the Hulk just like the footage out of Africa but he was calmed quickly and they made their way to the safe house. He waited at a hotel in town for their next move. They weren't the only one's trained for this. Even if he was an old, dying man who hadn't done anything tactical in thirty years, there were still things he never unlearned.

* * *

Dr. Yenin's favorite poem still wafted through her head long after he strapped her to the table and subjected her to the torture of being stronger and lasting longer in a cruel world.

 _Wait for me, and I'll come back_

 _Wait with all you've got_

 _Wait when dreary yellow rains_

 _Tell you, you should not..._

Natasha felt serene. She didn't like the feeling at all. It was a false euphoria that meant that Natalia was slowly taking over. Soon, she wouldn't be able to do anything at all, even as Natalia continued to experiment with a death that couldn't be contained. Then the old Viktoriya, long dead came to mind. It was a better trigger, one that actually mattered to Natalia. She knew it did. Natalia was once human after all, even if Natasha never was. She remembered the gun in Ivan's hand and the way Viktoriya simply walked into her death.

"Natalia." Natasha shouted at the door, "Natalia, listen to me!" She had no idea if the words would sink in, but perhaps their mutual pain and hatred could be beneficial. "The people that hurt you, the people here. They are the ones that you should tear apart. They hurt you, Natalia. They hurt us. Maybe you won't need what you took from the box. Maybe you won't need to see what else is in the box. They hurt everyone they touch. Without them, maybe the world would be bearable for you."

* * *

 _They hurt me._

Natalia heard him enter. She always heard, no matter how silent his tread could be. She tapped the side of the hypodermic needle, accidentally squirting the dull green liquid on the table. It sizzled and burned, dripping through the stainless steel counter. Ivan's hands rested on her shoulders as he leaned forward, glancing down at her work. "This is all from memory? Where did you learn this?"

"It's merely a theory." Natalia glanced up at him, placing the needle off to the side, "I want to test it."

Ivan smiled, tipping her chin up so that he could see her more clearly. They were both strange creatures, frozen in time. He had the appearance of a seventy year old, despite the fact that he was over a hundred. He was the only male subject that survived the serum injection. He was dying anyway when she did it anyway. Slowly, Natalia removed his hand from her shoulder and faced him.

"What does it do, my darling girl?"

Natalia cocked her head, "I chemically altered the serum. I simply need to test what it can do. What better subject than one who is practically immortal? You're weak, Ivan. Why did I never see that before?"

Ivan stepped back but it was too late. Natalia jumped him, stabbing his neck and pumping the poison into his system. He was dead before he even hit the ground. Natalia noted that someone with cells that reproduce faster than normal (thus extending his youth indefinitely and making him extraordinarily resistant to poison and illness) could die far quicker than a stab wound straight through the heart. An injection that could destroy cells at such a rate could be useful. She tested it on each of the handlers, both enhanced or not. The enhanced died at the same time as Ivan. Just a drop on the skin was enough to kill a normal person.

Once they were disposed of, she entered the dormitories where the girls all slept in their fitful, nightmarish sleep.

"Wake up." She only had to call it once before everyone's eyes blinked open, completely awake in an instant. Natalia walked to the first bed and unlocked the handcuff, then moved on to the next one and the next one as the girls rose and stretched, "Ivan and the other handlers dead."

They blinked, not knowing what response she wanted.

"This base has been compromised. You are no longer needed."

Inside, Natasha was smiling. The old Viktoriya worked after all.

The new Viktoriya rose steadily, wrapping her arms around herself, "What does that mean for us, exactly?"

"It means that I'm freeing you. The Red Room no longer exists. Everyone will take essential items for a long trek because I'm burning this hellhole to the ground."

Natalia sent the girls to a trainstop. She bought their tickets and told them what station to get off at. She gave them their hotel number and counted them, telling them that she would find and terminate anyone who made a run for it. They rode in silence. A woman asked Alisa if they were going on a field trip somewhere. Alisa looked to Natalia for guidance.

"Actually, we're on our way home. Nasty weather. The girls are all rather disappointed and tired."

"Oh you poor dears." She tittered, and offered Alisa a cookie.

The girl glared at her in return, shuffling closer to Viktoriya.

"Alisa's diabetic. We try not to eat sweets in front of her." Natalia whispered in the old woman's ear.

"Oh—I bet she's all bent out of shape then." The woman shook her head.

Natalia sighed, tipping her head back as exhaustion overtook her. Natasha's noise was starting to take its toll again, making her feel exhausted but she wasn't finished yet. She felt the caped syringe in her pocket. She would have to find a way to put it into a dart.

* * *

How do we bear this burden, far too much to carry?

How do we change our prison to a sanctuary?

We've been kept from the light, no one ever gave a damn

If I've no one to fight, how do I know who I am?

 **Usually I'm not a "post lyrics in a fanfiction type of person" but this song is more like a poem and it seems like it was almost written for Natasha Romanoff.**


	13. The Ballerinas

**Thank you all so much for your reviews! They're greatly appreciated and I'm almost up to 100 which is incredibly exciting.**

Natalia watched the dancers practicing. She hated them all, every single one of them. Her vision twitched and blurred before her, yet another side effect of the stupid serum they pumped into her veins. It made her stronger, jump higher, and her senses processed far more than before. Everything was assaulting her at once. The dancers' perfect forms, the smell of sweat and dust in the theater, and the sound of loud tinny music, interrupted with the occasion skip and scratch of the record player, echoing in her ears made her feel like she was going insane. Natalia was already insane though. She was fully aware of that. A little voice in her head was telling her to follow orders and just leave.

Why did they make her leave when they got to stay? It wasn't fair. They wouldn't hesitate to slit their sweethearts' throats if they were ordered to. They didn't know the pain and longing that accompanied feeling something beyond their idiotic programming. There were six of them in all. Six had survived the Black Widow Ops training program. Six, her age had survived the Red Room and moved on to working for the ballet company. It was the perfect cover for moving back and forth behind the Iron Curtain. Cold war be damned, there were still people that wanted good Russian ballet.

Natalia put glass in the shoes of the women she somewhat liked. They left early, wondering which of them decided to sabotage ballerinas with minor roles in the production. Natalia never heard what happened to them. She assumed that they continued to do their jobs until they died. Perhaps they were injected with the same serum. Perhaps they ran. It mattered little. The three that remained were those that had to go. She slipped in and cut one's throat. The other two reacted, but they were far too late and Natalia was far too good, her senses heightened, her strength increased, when, in reality, she probably still would have been able to kill them.

Ivan found her sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, her white dress drenched in the blood of the dead Black Widows. He didn't react. If anything, Ivan's expression was a little bland for her tastes. She would've thought that the shock value of three of his precious students lying dead would have done something to induce a reaction. Then again, she had always been his favorite.

"Natalia, why did you do this?" He asked at last, exasperated like she was a child that drew on the walls.

Natalia didn't hesitate in responding, "I can't go home."

"Natalia—"

"I'll do whatever you want. I always have. But not that."

"It's cleanup—"

"Let him be." Natalia unfurled, standing up, towering over him from her vantage point on stage, "Three ballerinas were murdered last night and one went missing. A loving husband mourns his wife. That is far more plausible than three ballerinas dead, one missing, and the missing one's husband murdered in his bed or gone as well."

"Natalia. You must trust me." Natalia cocked her head to the side.

"Must I?"

"If you want to go quietly, then yes."

"All I ever wanted to do was please you. Why is it never enough? Why is it never enough that I let people stick needles all over my body? I became the best, just for you. I won't ever see him again. I won't talk to him again. I've been good. I'll be good."

Ivan shook his head, "You should know better than to think I'd agree to it."

Natalia knew that he would, even if he never said so.

* * *

"Natalia—Natalia—look it's over, you don't have to do this, you really don't." Natasha banged on the door, but she found herself unable to actually reach for the handle. Natalia couldn't hear her anymore. Natasha gripped her hair, pacing back and forth in front. She jumped back as if she had been burned, to make sure that the contents of her box were still intact.

"Natalia." Natasha called out, "Natalia? You know, it might not work.. You don't have to—"

Natalia had too much information. Natasha shouldn't have given her knowledge of Bruce's condition, but Natalia wouldn't have been convinced it was all that resided in her mind. Slowly, Natasha settled on the sofa and wrapped herself around the little blue box in the blue room that she used to hide from the Red Room. Trying to reason with Natalia was like trying to reason with a scared little girl with a gun when fire was raining down from above.

Hopefully, Bruce would be able to run when it counted and if it didn't work—then the danger Natalia and by default, Natasha, presented to entirety of the world would be neutralized. Natasha wouldn't want to see the sort of thing killing her would do to Bruce's already fragile mental and emotional state, but, at the same time, couldn't stand the idea of the serum actually working. Natalia would get her way in it, pulling the rug out from under Natasha and smothering her with it.

All she needed to do is remove a constant.

Natasha took a deep, shaky breath and for the first time in years, she felt a burning urge to cry. She placed the box carefully beside her and watched, only as an observer, how far Natalia will go for relief.

* * *

"Shit."

That was the only thing that the usually verbose Tony had to say after Steve reported recent events in a manner that was as quick and streamlined as possible. Lena was called up to say her piece to the man on the screen. Bruce noticed that she seemed to be getting more and more used to constantly explaining herself and her actions. The girl would sigh, take a deep breath, and say the exact same thing she had to repeat to Clint, Steve, and Wanda. She allowed Wanda to search her mind and she didn't seem to find anything wrong. Bruce still didn't trust her though. How could he? The worst image in the world was presented to him, a worst case scenario that Bruce was able to push back before Wanda tore it out.

Bruce blinked, realizing that he was zoning as Tony was throwing information at them at a rapid fire pace.

"—Tony—"

"No, no, no you don't understand, Steve. If Lena's right—which she may be—look at the Winter Soldier—" Steve visibly cringed, "—She's destructive, manipulative, and dangerous—oh wait, that's Natasha as per usual. Okay, let me rephrase that. If she's gone all dark side on us and is perfectly capable of killing for no reason, then she's far, far more dangerous than Dr. Banner on an off day."

Bruce shook his head, "I don't want—"

"Natasha has clearance that none of us have. She could blow up the side of the planet if she wanted to—"

"She wouldn't—" Bruce tried to argue.

"She's not herself." Lena muttered darkly, "This is why she wanted me to kill her."

"Okay—" Clint, who had previously remained the silent observer spoke up, "We change the codes, mix things up—"

"I'm working on it." Tony replied, "Why do you think I keep looking away? But nooooo, SHIELD is averse to the idea of randomly changing things on Natasha—I'm trying to explain the situation—"

"Okay, Tony, get back to us when you've got Natasha locked out of the system." Steve looked like he was in considerable pain as he choked out the next words, "She cannot be trusted right now."

Bruce liked that "Right now" implied that they would be able to depend on her again soon, after they had everything suited. He understood why Captain America was many people's favorite hero: His optimism was almost infectious.


	14. The Spiders

**Hey guys. Don't mind me, just posting another chapter trying not to think about the whole end of school/finals/graduation thing. The real world kind of sucks, so guess what? More fanfiction. And poetry.**

The Spiders (1903)

My world is like a chamber, narrow, –

It's very low, very small.

In four its corners sit four fellows –

Four spiders, diligent in all.

They are all fat, adroit, and dirty,

And always spin and spin the web…

And it is awful – their portly,

Monotonous and even step.

With four their webs, when they were ready,

They spun the immense one, at last.

I watch their fat backs' movement, steady,

In darkness of the stinking dust.

My eyes – under the webbing's level:

It's gray, and soft, and sticky, yet.

And they are glad with gladness, evil, -

Four spiders, fat.

—Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius

Alisa and Viktoriya sat side by side on a hostel bed. The other girls were already asleep. It was the first time Alisa had seen a bed without a chain attached to it. The mattress was a few centimeters thicker than the one she had before, and it was covered in an ugly yellow covered sheet. She stroked it repeatedly, marveling at the strange turn her life had taken in a matter of a few days. The new trainer Natalia had been strange. Alisa had been terrified the day she and Viktoriya were ordered to spar. Alisa didn't want to kill her friend but she didn't want to die either. In the end, she made the decision. Viktoriya would live and she would die.

Yet the kill order never came.

That was when she knew Natalia was different. She was the only trainer that had been exactly where she was. Alisa looked around at the others. Natalia simply left them at the hostel, entrusting several of the girls, including the older ones, with money. A few of the older ones disappeared entirely that night.

"What do we do now?" Viktoriya whispered.

"We wait for orders."

"Natalia said there aren't any—"

"We wait for orders, Viktoriya." Alisa wanted to snap but she knew she wasn't supposed to.

"What if they aren't coming?"

"She won't just strand us here. It'd be illogical."

"Killing everyone in charge of us was illogical. Letting me live was illogical. Leaving us with money and warm beds was illogical. We can't apply logic." Viktoriya looked at Alisa, "She said the Red Room no longer exists. We—we don't have to do it anymore—there's no point."

"There's only Natalia." Alisa supplied, "We wait. The other girls may go, but we wait."

Viktoriya slid closer to Alisa and wrapped her arms around her. Both eight year olds didn't know what to do in a world without a handler. They knew nothing but how to wait for orders.

* * *

Bruce didn't know what it was about Tony's comment, but he found himself walking out in the snow, far away from where he could hurt anyone. The snow crunched once behind him and he turned; he only found Lena. She stood there with her arms crossed, her eyes cold and calculative as they assessed him. Bruce felt like he was dealing with Natasha for the first time. It was a strange, probing feeling that reminded him of why he disliked the woman in the beginning. It's strange how much things changed in a relatively short period of time. Bruce gestured at her questioningly.

"It's dangerous to go out alone." Lena explained her presence.

"I can handle it."

"I don't think you can handle being green again. You feel guilty." Lena crossed the snow, walking straight up to him. "Everything's your fault. That's what you think."

Bruce felt his breath catch in his chest as a little Natasha stared up at him. "I cause a lot of damage."

"But not all of it." Lena replied, "And thinking otherwise is narcissistic and self-centered."

"Well said." Bruce stiffened upon hearing _her voice_ and both turned, to find Natasha, who somehow managed to remain outside of their combined peripheral vision. Immediately, Lena pulled a gun but Bruce instinctively knocked it down. If Natasha died, no matter what she had done or will do, Bruce would rip apart the entire world. There would be no chance of talking him down when he saw it in person and he didn't want to kill a child.

"Natasha." Bruce found his voice, "Natasha—"

"Nope. Natalia." Her accent, he found, had regressed into it's natural Russian, which made her even more ominous and distanced from the woman he knew. "Lena—" She addressed the girl in rapid Russian.

Slowly, Lena nodded and started walking away. Bruce grabbed her arm, "Where are you going?"

"Natalia told me that there are students of the Red Room that I should check on."

"What?"

"She killed them. She killed all the handlers of the Red Room." Lena shook her head, "I must go now."

As soon as the girl was out of sight, Natas—Natalia smiled at Bruce but it wasn't the smile he was used to. It was something completely different, something sinister, "I'm assuming Stark's changed the launch codes by now. Natasha kept those secret long enough for them to be useless. I didn't want to do that anymore, anyway. I decided my focus needed to be more—pointed. There's no need to eradicate everyone, when everyone I need dead are here in Russia or already dead." Her expression twitched, but it passed, going back to her sickening smile. "There's so many memories."

Where was Steve? Clint? He was almost wishing that even Wanda was there, because there was something in Natalia that was scary.

"They're fine, if you want to know. I haven't touched them. They're not my focus." She pulled a gun out and pointed it directly at his chest, "At the moment, you are."

"Natasha, you know bullets don't do anything."

"I'm not Natasha and this isn't a bullet."

For a moment, he only felt a sting. It wasn't enough to transform. It didn't seem all that threatening until whatever it was caused him to double over in pain. He felt himself start to change but something happened—something different and strange took over. In fact, he blacked out. That never happened before.

* * *

Clint woke up first. He immediately felt like something was wrong and he turned on the light, stumbling around.

"What's going on?" Steve asked, blinking in the new light.

"Where are Lena and Bruce?"

Wanda sat straight up, "I don't sense them in the area."

"Shit." Clint shook his head, "All this all over again? Seriously?"

"All right, guess we're on the move then."

* * *

Bruce woke up, groggily, his face red and raw from rubbing up against the snow on the ground. He rose to a sitting position, only to find Natalia/Natasha still there. He didn't feel like he turned into the Hulk at all, but he felt like weights were tied to all of his limbs.

"I didn't know if you were going to wake up or not." She stared at him in such a calculative and clinical way that it made Bruce feel like he was part of an experiment all over again.

"What—"

"I tranquilized you, apparently." She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"That's not possible, you know that, Nat—" he almost choked on Natasha/Natalia's name. Perhaps it was safest if he referred to her as Nat like Clint did.

"We've been working on this for ages. Well she has, anyway. Ever since she met you, she's been wanting to find a way to control you. It's an inherent part of her, you see. She craves control. While mental manipulation obviously worked well, she still thought it would be good if she could neutralize you quickly if you changing in the first place would be inconvenient. Of course, this was the first test run on you specifically. Who knows. Maybe next I'll find a way to kill you. You wanted relief. A bullet in the head can give you that. You may be the Hulk but I am the best killer there is." She giggled at his twisted expression, "Even my better half has a dark side."

"At least she isn't near so unhinged." Bruce commented dryly.

"She took what isn't hers."

"I don't care if she's the original or not, she was always be better than you. My Natasha is a little twisted but she's a person trying to do the right thing." Bruce hoped that somewhere, Natasha heard him.

Natalia laughed, "You shouldn't defend her. You disgust her."

"I-"

Bruce found that he didn't have a reply for that. He wanted to believe that Natalia was only trying to hurt him, perhaps test him, perhaps try to make him angry, but he only felt a bitter resignation. Natalia realized that she hit a sore point with him. She knelt down and took his chin, "Do you know how many nightmares I had to watch on account of you? I felt her disgust when your little infatuation began, felt it rolling off of her as she encouraged it for the sake of control. It worked though. It worked. All it took was the tiniest act of kindness and you'll do _anything_ for her. So eager to please. So starved for her attention. Pathetic."

Bruce shook his head. It was just exploitation of his insecurities from stores of information Natasha had in her head but it still _hurt._ It spoke to the voice in his head that constantly questioned Natasha and her intentions. Natalia drew close to him, the next words in a breathy whisper:

"She. Isn't. Real." She pushed him away and sprang back a couple feet as if she had been burned. There it was. The anger. Natalia didn't have the same command over her emotions that Natasha had. Natalia was trembling with anger and a madness that suddenly didn't frighten Bruce anymore.

"That doesn't matter. You have to stop this. Why are you doing this?" There must be some shred of Natasha in her, the part that knew exactly why this was all a bad idea.

"THEY HURT ME! AND NOW I'LL HURT THEM!" She shrieked, pulling a knife from her boot, making her way across the broken snow with it raised high above her head, "And I'll hurt you—everything hurts—I killed them but I haven't killed you—I may not be able to, but I can hurt you right now."

Natalia started to strike, but didn't. The hand holding the knife trembled and lowered. For a moment, she held out her wrist and the knife clumsily made it's way down towards the skin exposed between the glove and the sleeve of her coat.

"Natasha!" Bruce snapped, almost surprised that he could sound so firm. The knife stopped a few centimeters from her wrist, and when the woman looked up, he saw both of them at once for a moment, before Natalia took over again. "Natasha. You said 'wait for me and I'll come back.' I should've said the same to you. I should've at least sent word. I was going to come back. I'm so sorry for that." His eyes widened when he realized exactly why Natalia was saying these things, "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"No one else but you." Natasha whispered. She froze, twitching for a second, the knife dropping with a clatter, "Stop it. Stop it please. I want you to—why can't everything be quiet!" She gripped her head, pacing back and forth, "I need it to be quiet—please go away, please leave me alone—please, please—I they hurt me—they hurt me, he hurt me—I want—please!"

"Natasha."

This time it wasn't Bruce who said it.

 **And the psychotic meltdown has begun.**


	15. The Green Room

**Hey guys! Here's another chapter. I really like this one and I hope you do too. Although, there's trigger warnings for suicide and violence and stuff.**

Lena ran through the snow, blindly, her feet being dragged down more than she wanted. Suddenly, she was hit from the side and sent rolling. Instinctively, she stabbed blindly, pushing her assailant away from her. He took a couple staggering steps back with his hand over his new wound. He was old hunched but still somehow managed to take her by surprise. He turned and ran, oddly well for an elderly man with a knife in his shoulder. She shook her head and kept running, even though she would've had a clean shot.

She didn't have to kill anymore.

She didn't want to.

* * *

Before

"I could use a good run again."

"Again?" For some reason, Bruce couldn't imagine Natasha running from anything in all of her life. She approached things head on. In fact, their entire relationship was based almost entirely on her deciding that she would not fear him. Bruce thought it was a stupid resolution and a dangerous one at that, but how could he complain when her legs were draped over his lap and her back was up against the headboard?

They were lucky enough to get a bed. Clint saw nothing wrong with Natasha rooming with him; the rest of the team didn't even blink. Tony didn't even make a snarky comment. It was then that he realized that none of them _really_ thought of her as a woman. In a way, they didn't think of him as a man. Bruce and Natasha were both non-entities defined clearly by what they did. The team really did consist of some of the best people he had ever been around.

That didn't stop him from feeling a little awkward and childish about the affair. He hadn't realized that Clint had a family. The man didn't seem like the type. He supposed that was the point. Natasha's entire demeanor changed around children. It was a pleasant surprise but also a painful one, when Natasha's sterilization was brought to light. He never really thought about having a family, especially with his own experience with it. That had been a point of contention in his relationship with Betty.

Natasha shook her head, "The Red Room." She rubbed her temples, cringing.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. Still feeling a bit strange after that—intrusion."

Bruce winced, "That was—"

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry." Natasha repeated. The way she said it sounded like she really didn't mean it, but Natasha's intonation never meant much. "I wasn't there." She clarified.

Bruce shook his head vigorously, "No, no, no I—"

His breathing was getting uneven. Natasha flinched and he immediately felt even worse about himself. She hadn't done that in a long time. He almost thought of himself as human. He shifted out from beneath her legs and was about to make a run for it when he felt Natasha's arms around him and her cheek pressed against his back.

"There's no need to get worked up—you're tired—I'm tired. Let's get some sleep."

* * *

The girl used a length of rope to hang herself from a beam in the bathroom. Her body still swayed slightly from her instinctive struggle against strangulation. Viktoriya, Alisa, and Svetlana crowded the doorway, with the other girls looming behind them, peering at Yana's limp corpse.

"We should cut her down." Svetlana spoke at last.

No one did anything about it. Alisa sighed and climbed onto the counter, sawing at the rope until the dead girl hit the floor with a resounding thud, "Where do we put her?"

"We could put her in the trash bin."

"That's not how you get rid of a body!"

"We could—" Everyone turned to stare at Tatiana, the eldest student, and the only one about to graduate that didn't disappear, as she spoke for the first time in this strange turn of events, "—report it."

"Are you insane?"

"Law abiding citizens report suicides." Tatiana spoke evenly and carefully, steadily walking across the room to pick up the old telephone. She played with the cord for a bit, "Consider it a cover and most of it is true. We found her in the bathroom. We cut her down—because we thought she was still alive. That's two thirds true. What do you think?"

Alisa nodded before taking a deep breath, throwing her head back, and screaming. She kept screaming and felt tears run down her face even as a policeman picked her up (she should have attacked him, that was what she was trained to do, after all) and pressed her face into his shoulder.

"Shhh, everything's all right now, love. We'll sort this all out."

* * *

"Natasha."

Natalia stood there, her entire frame vibrating from exposure and Natasha slamming up against the walls in her head at full force. She felt like she was going to explode and Bruce's terrified face both thrilled and killed her at the same time. Natasha had taken control for a single moment, but Bruce of all people let Natalia take hold again.

"Natasha."

Alexei clutched his shoulder, blood rolling over his fingers and dripping onto the ground, blooming like a morbid painting of red roses. Natalia had no control over her limbs as she propelled forward at the same time that he fell to his knees. He was shuddering from the pain and the blind panic only lasted for a minute before she started wrapping his scarf around the wound. She felt his warm blood on her hands and the tears burning her cheeks.

"Natasha." He repeated yet again, "No love, stop it." He batted away her hands, and clutched them in his.

He had glasses. That was the most heartbreaking thing to her. He had glasses when he was once a pilot. His vision was something that he had always been proud of, "Alexei, what are you doing? Look let me fix—"

"Natasha—my Natalia." Natalia winced, "I'm happy I got to see you again."

Natasha was oddly quiet throughout this entire encounter. It was like she had chosen not to do anything. Natalia didn't feel any better though. She thought that if Natasha stopped being so loud, she could go back to—back to what exactly? Back to 1955 before she discovered how much of a product of the Red Room she was? No matter how much she wanted it to go back to dancing and pretending like there was nothing more than Ballet and Alexei. What about back to 1942, right before her entire family was ripped away from her? It was impossible—impossible—what was the point in anything she did? It hurt—it hurt so much—

"Natalia—" Alexei's rough, dry voice creaked through her reverie, her meltdown, bringing her back to holding his hands in the snow while he bled out, leaning against her shoulder as he whispered, "you must go to sleep. You'll feel so much better. Your dreams will be happy ones and I won't be too far behind. I promise, love." He wrapped a weakened arm around her.

"I didn't want to leave, they would've killed you—"

"—but you did come back in the end." His grip on her hand was relaxing, "I'm so sorry you had to carry this with you all these years."

"You've been through enough, darling. It's bedtime—" Natasha whispered at last, her words soothing and not combative for the first time since she was conceived, "Sleep now—"

It blurred with every other bedtime before then. Her mother's voice wafted through her head suddenly, her sweet words before tucking her in and before being blown up right as she started drifting off. "My darling girl, I know you're excited. But in order for tomorrow to come, you must sleep. I'll sing you a lullaby if you'd like. The one about the sun, maybe?"

"Wait for me and I'll come back—" Fuck Dr. Yenin for breaking what remained of her mind in two, "Wait in patience yet, wait when they tell you off by heart, that you should forget—"

"—The sun's getting real low—" Mama's voice running with her own to tame a dragon to the tune of a tragic ballet.

"You must be so tired."

"Natalia, you are such a beautiful dancer—" Alexei, when she first performed only for him.

"Work harder, up, up, around, faster, faster—" A nameless female tutor telling her to keep spinning, even when she felt like her toes were going to break.

"Papa will be back in the morning. You can show him the dance you learned then—"

"There is no peace for the wicked."

"I am home."

"Maybe if you go to sleep, we'll let you win a race tomorrow." Her brother's voice seemed to tease.

Natalia blinked, standing across from Natasha in her familiar blue room. Behind her, the French doors were edged open just a bit, warmth and an old tune played on a fiddle, leaking out from behind it. Natalia bit her hand to keep from crying out and Natasha seemed to understand, stepping off to the side.

"What is that?" Natalia asked, hating how small and childlike her voice sounded, "I've never seen those doors before."

"It's because you didn't want to see them." Natasha replied quietly, "You should go."

"Where does it go?"

"What does it sound like, Natalia?"

"Like a fiddle."

"Papa's fiddle."

"Yes." Natalia took a step closer to it, entranced by the music, "It's a happy memory."

"They're all happy memories, Natalia. If you choose to go there, if you choose to sleep, those will be all you feel again."

"And Alexei—"

"He will be there too. He will be there soon, Natalia."

Natalia felt as if a bucket of ice water drenched her and she turned, ready to run out the other door and into the world once more—

"He's dead now, Natalia." Natasha murmured.

"He was the only family I had left."

"They're in there." Natasha pointed towards the door, "Just lay down and go to sleep. I'll handle everything from here, Natalia."

Natalia took a deep breath, pushing the door open to reveal a child's room and a child's bed, hunched in a corner and surrounded by her family. There was nothing that felt safer than her room, nothing that felt more familiar than it's green wallpaper or it's patched bedspread. Natalia turned, her lips turned upward slightly as she shut the doors on Natasha and locked it herself.


	16. A Studio By the Sea

**I think everyone in the world should watch a dance. Go to youtube and type in** **Apologize Dance Precisions** **. I actually watch it every time I'm writing a scene with Natasha and Bruce in it. It's a lyrical duet that tells a story much like the one I was trying to write with Bruce and Natasha. It's also the type of dance form mentioned in this chapter.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews and support! I couldn't have done it without such encouragement.**

Natasha sat in the snow on her knees for two minutes, a stiffening Alexei Shostakov leaning on her shoulder. Bruce thought he should do something but he wasn't quite sure what. He stood up on shaking legs and carved a path in the snow. Finally, he decided on putting his hand on her shoulder from behind. Her body seized and a blood stained gloveless hand flew up. For a second, Bruce thought she was going to attack him, but instead, her hand rested on his. She rose, laying Alexei down in the snow gracefully and she turned towards Bruce, alternating the angle at which she held his hand until she was facing Bruce completely. Her eyes no longer held the unhinged fury of Natalia. She was just Natasha and just Natasha was looking at him like he was her world.

"You need to go inside."

That was all she said. It wasn't a greeting like "Hey, how are you, sorry about the whole trying to kill you thing." Or even a "Hi." Anything would have sufficed. Well, not anything, but he still let her help him up walk back, slowly, inch by inch until they made it to the safe house.

Clint was the first to run out, "Natasha—"

"You're so slow, Barton. I fixed it myself."

"Thank God you're back, Nat."

"Thank me later." Natasha smirked, "Help me get him inside, he's freezing his ass off." She and Bruce both seemed to catch his look, "Not now Clint. There's a lot, but not now."

Bruce found himself shoved in front of the fire. Natasha made a quick job of stripping his damp winter clothes and hanging them over the pellet stove. She dropped her coat as well, revealing her battle attire.

"The others are searching for you."

"They'll find Alexei Shostakov, dead from a stab wound to the shoulder."

'The shoulder, how—"

"You've been around too many abnormal people recently, Clint." Natasha shook her head, rubbing Bruce's numb hands with hers, so hard that flecks of dried blood were left on his skin. "There are girls at a local hostel—possibly at the police station now, depending on how long they lasted. Started with twenty, but I'm guessing there's only nine or ten left there. Here" Clint caught the notebook that she pulled from her coat pocket and went to the other room to make the call.

"What girls?" Bruce finally found his voice.

Natasha froze temporarily, her eyes meeting his, "The Red Room was still fully operational. Except, their services went to the highest bidder. I convinced Natalia to gut the handlers." Natasha muttered, pulling off his boots and rubbing down his feet.

Bruce winced at the pins and needles feeling that radiated up his legs, "That's uhm—"

"Sorry about trying to kill you, by the way." She spoke lightly, but she was tense. Bruce could tell from the way she set her shoulders. It was shame.

"Guess we're even then." Bruce tried to sound easygoing, but he couldn't fake it like she could in times of crisis. Instead, it came out strangled and choked. He wheezed, feeling weak and irritated.

"We've always been even, Bruce." She dropped his foot, practically sliding across the floor to embrace him tightly.

She broke away too soon and stood up. He followed suit, his legs still shaking beneath him, "H-how—what did you use to uhm—"

"Long story." Natasha shrugged, "I had to tell her. She wouldn't leave the codes alone without it."

Bruce felt that tiny tinge of betrayal once more. "Again."

"Yes again, Bruce." Natasha rolled her eyes of all things. He thought that he would be the one to reprimand her, but he should have known it wouldn't work that way, "I will always choose to help other people over your comfort level. It's logical. I'm not going to risk millions of lives because I care about what you think of me. I care, I care so much Bruce—" She paused briefly, drawing closer to him and running a hand up to his shoulder, rubbing her thumb against the base of his neck. Bruce shuddered in response, "—I just can't always let that get in the way of work. And I will always be working or on call, no matter where we go. Although, after all this, I'm thinking I need a break. A _long_ one. And I—"

Bruce had heard enough. He pulled her in by the small of her back and kissed her properly until Clint walked back into the room and Natasha broke away before the archer did the stereotypical cough to draw their attention.

"There's some local authorities that would love to have a chat with you, Nat."

Natasha nodded stiffly, following him, "Stay here." She barked at Bruce, "You don't have boots on anyway." A little laugh escaped Bruce of all things. She turned, honing in on the little gasp of a chuckle and smiled, "We'll talk later."

* * *

Every girl sat an inch away from each other, with the exception of Viktoriya and Alisa, who clung to each other. Lena found the concept almost alien. The other girls remained suspicious of each other. They had been trained to think that everyone else would break their neck if given the chance. It was true for the most part. Alliances weren't easily forged in that sort of environment.

"Where did the others go?" Natasha asked, kneeling down in front of Lena.

Lena shook her head, "I don't know. They were gone before we got here." Natasha leaned in, tipping Lena's chin up with the side of her index finger. Lena's breath caught in her throat at the contact. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry—I didn't know—"

"He could've easily gotten medical attention if he so wanted, Lena." Natasha stroked the girl's chin with her thumb, "And Yana was a tragedy, but not your fault."

"The other girls—"

"I'll find them." Natasha reached out to stroke her hair. Lena was aware of every other girl on the plane staring at them. Disgust. Fear. Suspicion. Envy.

"Even the operatives?"

"Especially the operatives." Natasha sounded so grim and empty at that, "We'll talk of all of this more when we—"

"What will happen to us?" Viktoriya asked.

"Hopefully nothing." Steve spoke quietly, "According to the Russian government, all of you are dead or don't exist so—we'll mess with the paperwork a little."

"But what does that _mean?"_ Viktoriya pressed for answers, staring up at the large Captain with narrow eyes.

He glanced over at Natasha for support, "Well, I'm sure Natasha's got a quiet place in mind." He leaned over and whispered, "How did you even get them out of Russian custody?"

Natasha shrugged "Russian cops. I bribed them."

Lena felt a small bit of joy well up inside of her. It was too early to tell what everything meant but it was too tempting of a chance for quiet. She watched as Natasha crossed and settled next to Dr. Banner, their hands wrapped around each other's and Natasha's head tucked between his head and shoulder. It looked so peaceful. Lena wondered if she had a chance of achieving that peace. She supposed that she had no option but to try.

* * *

Wait for me, and I'll come back!  
Wait with all you've got!  
Wait, when dreary yellow rains  
Tell you, you should not.  
Wait when snow is falling fast,  
Wait when summer's hot,  
Wait when yesterdays are past,  
Others are forgot.  
Wait, when from that far-off place,  
Letters don't arrive.  
Wait, when those with whom you wait  
Doubt if I'm alive.

Wait for me, and I'll come back!  
Wait in patience yet  
When they tell you off by heart  
That you should forget.  
Even when my dearest ones  
Say that I am lost,  
Even when my friends give up,  
Sit and count the cost,  
Drink a glass of bitter wine  
To the fallen friend -  
Wait! And do not drink with them!  
Wait until the end!

Wait for me and I'll come back,  
Dodging every fate!  
"What a bit of luck!" they'll say,  
Those that would not wait.  
They will never understand  
How amidst the strife,  
By your waiting for me, dear,  
You had saved my life.  
Only you and I will know  
How you got me through.  
Simply - you knew how to wait -  
No one else but you.

A tired Bruce leaned up against Natasha as she whispered the poem, first in Russian and then in English for his benefit. How oddly fitting it was for them. He was too tired for questions, too tired to think beyond them being together and the strange sense of peace that followed.

* * *

Natasha taught them dance in the mornings.

It wasn't the harsh training meant for going en pointe, but gentle lyrical dances to the tune of common American pop songs. Viktoriya liked it better than the psychiatrist and psychologists they all had to see constantly. She didn't understand a lot of what they were saying or the analogies they made. Why did she need to color or play with dolls when she could simply state everything? She always stared at the wall over Dr. Thomas's head waiting for it to be over so that Natasha would pick her up and take her home.

Dancing was familiarity in a foreign environment where she didn't have to be chained to a bed. The doors and windows were open to the balcony, allowing the smell of the ocean in as she returned to first position. When Viktoriya and Alisa were tired, they could stop without severe punishment. They didn't have to spar. They didn't have to learn where to stick a knife on a man. It was nice to dance without those threats looming over her head. It made her feel light. Natasha even let her pick her own songs and make her own choreography. She no longer felt like a puppet.

Sometimes, Green Man even brought them cookies and said funny things that made her laugh.

All Dr. Thomas gave her was a box tissues and told her that she was allowed to cry.

Viktoriya didn't want to cry.

She just wanted to dance.

* * *

Bruce lay curled up around Natasha as she slept. It was a less tense, less desperate rendition of them sleeping next to each other at the Barton's farm. It had been two months and he still wasn't used to it. Natasha turned towards him, her eyes opening slowly. He could barely see her in the dark, nothing more than a pale face and eyes that a small bit of light reflected off of.

"I love you." He said it plainly and out of nowhere, not when his lips were on her neck or when she faced away from him. He felt too bare and vulnerable when she said nothing and did nothing.

"I've—I've said 'I love you' too many times without meaning it." She said quietly, stroking the top of his hand, "I won't use empty words on you."

Bruce wanted to tell her it was perfectly fine but Lena's scream echoed through the house. "I got this one." Natasha said gently before she quickly slid out of bed, pressing a quick kiss that Bruce could barely reciprocate in time.

Bruce settled back in bed as Natasha led a gloomy and half asleep Lena to their room and onto their bed. She slid beside her and pulled the little girl against her chest. Natasha's eyes met Bruce's and at that moment, he finally realized something. He could take a break from life, from everything, but that was all it was: a break. There was always something that would drag him out of hiding and Natasha never wanted to hide in the first place. Even in times of peace, there was always a nightmare looming. It didn't help that Natasha let almost a dozen assassins in training live with them. For some reason, rehabilitating traumatized and slightly homicidal little girls was her idea of a break.

"Thank you, Green Man." Lena murmured sleepily.

Bruce didn't think he'd ever like that nickname, but he figured with the girls he could let it slide.

The fact that things are currently okay is enough for him for now.

 **The poem "Wait for me and I'll come back" is by Konstantin Simonov, a Russian poet that was stuck fighting in World War II. His poems swing from hopeless to hopelessly optimistic with the twists and turns of the war. I found him interesting.**

 **So this was the final chapter, guys. It was an honor to write for you and I loved all the reviews and follows I received as a result of this. It's fitting that I end this on my last day of high school because this is the last fanfiction I wrote as a high school student. I'll be on to bigger and better things—and let's face it, I'll probably still be writing fanfiction when I'm eighty, so this isn't the last you've seen of me!**


	17. Bonus: Tatiana

**So I decided to write bonus chapters for A Product of the Red Room. I mainly wanted to explore what would've happened after the final chapter. Today, I wanted to examine the character of Tatiana, the girl only known for deciding to call the police. I just think that recovery for these girls would no go easily, especially the older ones. The next one will be goofier and with a lot more Brutasha.**

Tatiana sat in the office, waiting for Natasha and the reprimand that would likely follow. Natasha always understood her. Dr. Banner understood as well, but the level of care he showed for her made her uncomfortable. She was glad it was Natasha who picked up the phone. In the meantime, Tatiana stared at the assistant principal blankly. She was a fat, ugly woman that ate far too much chocolate. Her greasy skin annoyed Tatiana. She was always taught to groom herself properly. Mrs. Bell didn't even bother to wipe the tiny bit of chocolate residing at the corner of her mouth. Mrs. Bell tried asking her questions but eventually sighed.

"You aren't going to talk until your guardian's here, are you?"

Tatiana shook her head.

Mrs. Bell sighed again. She sighed a lot. It was heavy and dramatic bordering on theatrical. The door opened with a resounding click. Natasha walked in, wearing heels and a pencil skirt. She must have been doing something important before. Tatiana felt the sudden urge to sink in her seat but didn't.

"Hello, Mrs. Bell."

"Oh I didn't realize, I just thought—"

"Coincidence? Same name?" Natasha put her hand on Tatiana's shoulder. Tatiana liked that. It wasn't heavy and threatening, just a squeeze of the shoulder, "Where's Mr. Clark?"

"He uhm well—"

"Never mind, that doesn't matter." Natasha moved to sit next to Tatiana, but it didn't make her any less threatening to Mrs. Bell. The woman practically cowered in the SHIELD representative's presence. Tatiana wanted to laugh but her mouth didn't even twitch, "What is it that you wanted to discuss?"

"Maybe Tatiana should—"

"Tatiana stays." Natasha replied in a clipped tone.

"She knocked a fellow student out. We have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to violence."

* * *

Tatiana stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like an American high school student. Dark wash jeans and a blue knit shirt over a white tank top and boots seemed to be the uniform in the fall. A bit of light makeup covered her face, with eyeliner being the only real notable part. Her hair was long, wavy and loose. It was her first day of school and she was absolutely terrified.

The other girls had been going half the day for two weeks but Natasha thought it best that she wouldn't start just yet. Tatiana wanted to put it off forever. Her first job had been at a school in Spain. She killed a teacher. She didn't know why she was supposed to, she just did because her handler said so. Now Sarska was dead and Natasha was her—guardian—and as her guardian, she told Tatiana that she must go to school. She wasn't gathering intelligence. She wasn't slipping in and slipping out as a new transfer student. She was just going to school, with a class schedule and everything. She didn't know how to feel about it.

"It's going to be perfectly fine." She knew the moment that Dr. Banner (she couldn't bring herself to call him Bruce, and definitely not Green Man, like all the other girls) said it, that there was a good chance of things going poorly.

Her first class, Chemistry, was interesting. She knew a lot about it already, but not so much that it made it boring. She never made it to the other classes though. Boys were pushing and shoving each other in the hallway. It was a mock of a real fight, mainly blustering that made it difficult to get around them to go to her next class. Somehow, a thin looking boy that looked vaguely Hispanic got tossed in and immediately punched, landing near her. Tatiana didn't know what made her did it, but she helped him up and then turned to lead him away when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey what are you—"

Tatiana reacted immediately, pushing the boy she helped away and shoving her arm in another's gut, then tossing him over her shoulder and slamming him down hard on the tile floor. She blinked. She hadn't meant to. She really hadn't meant harm and any real opponent would have gotten back up or at least made an aim for her legs but then a lady was calling her and leading her to the office.

"I will talk to her." That was all Natasha said and she didn't the entire ride home. The other girls hadn't been released from school yet and Natasha didn't lead Tatiana up to the house but made her way past it, to an open grassy yard that was fenced and twenty yards away from the rugged and rocky beach and cliffs. Tatiana looked past it at the ocean. She had never gotten used to the ocean at all.

"I don't want to do this. I don't think I can."

"Of course you can."

"I don't feel like I can. I don't think I'm meant to." Tatiana bit her lip, "Can't I—join SHIELD? I know more than most of those agents and I can learn what else I need to and—"

"Tatiana, you're fifteen."

"So? I have the skills—"

"But not the emotional maturity required—or for that matter, legal adulthood." Natasha replied, "And there's a long way to go before I think you'll be an asset to SHIELD."

"But it's what I know—"

Natasha turned, backhanding Tatiana so hard that she flew to the ground. Tatiana immediately sprung up and attacked, going for her guardian's legs. Natasha twisted Tatiana's arm back painfully but Tatiana flipped her over her shoulder and didn't even have time to breathe before Natasha had her down again. Tatiana tried to reach up and pinch Natasha's trachea, but Natasha kept her pinned.

"Is this what you want to know for the rest of your life?" Natasha hissed, letting her up. Natasha held out her hand, "Because it can be. You can let it be all you know. But you've got a chance to experience something else. If you still want to be an operative by the time you're eighteen, I'll let you."

"Like you do?" Tatiana snapped, "This isn't exactly normal living, Natasha! You are hypocritical—"

"I spent a lot longer on the darker path than you, Tatiana. I have so much more to make up for. You're fifteen." Natasha continued to hold out her hand, "You've got your whole life ahead of you."

"I—I—"

"You're what?"

"I FEEL ANGRY!" Tatiana launched herself at Natasha. "I feel like—" She said between dodges and punches, "I should have died in there! My mother just dumped me there and she knew SHE KNEW, exactly what could happen to me! I'm angry, I'm so angry that I can't just color and dance and make it all better!" Tatiana pinned Natasha, "I don't know what to do."

Natasha fell limp, a small smile on her face, "Tonight, you'll discuss this with your therapist and tomorrow, you'll go to school."

"Can't I just talk to you instead? I don't like the psychologist."

"If you want, but you're still going to school tomorrow. Now let me up before I make you. You left your neck open. Someone could pinch it if given the chance."

* * *

The next morning, Tatiana got ready for school. She put on her boots and curled her hair. She took four pills with a glass of water and a peanut butter sandwich and got in the car to ride with Bruce to school. He smiled at her warmly. Tatiana wanted to sink down into her seat until he stopped. Bruce seemed to realize her discomfort and looked ahead at the road. Tatiana smiled gratefully at him when she got out of the car. Immediately, the scrawny boy from before ran up to her, stopping a few yards before her.

"Thanks for taking down Hanson; it was like totally badass!" He flailed his arms in a spastic and oddly endearing manner.

"I didn't—"

"He was an asshole. I promise you he needed a good knock on the head." The boy grinned, "Can you teach me how to do that?"

Tatiana looked at him doubtfully. He was skinny and had no muscle on him whatsoever, but he looked earnest enough. Wordlessly, she gestured for him to follow her to a grassy corner of the school grounds. She grabbed him by the shoulders, trying not to make her grip too tight. He looked confused, "Why are we doing that?"

"Basics first. Someone grabs you by the shoulders or by the shirt with both hands, use yours from the inside to push you." He tried to push her away, accidentally touching her breasts. Tatiana ignored his stuttering, "No, not like that." She placed his hands on her shoulders, slowly and gently raising her arms in front of her like she was praying and then splitting them apart to knock down his arms.

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess—"

"Try it on me now."

He practiced that single move until the bell rang, "What lunch do you have?"

"I don't go to lunch. I only come here part of the day." Tatiana replied.

"Why?"

"I dance in the mornings." Tatiana replied, "And eat before I go to school."

"Oh that's uhm—well I have second lunch—if you ever like—come to school early—erh I don't know, does that count as PE or elective credits or something?—sorry—um—I'm Ethan by the way, Ethan Ortega."

"Where do you eat?" Tatiana asked.

"The corner of the cafeteria by the library."

"I'll—I'll ask. I'm Tatiana."

* * *

Tatiana slowly sat down next to Ethan, placing her tray on the table. It wasn't nearly enough food, but she still ate a little before she left. He grinned at her and started introducing her to his friends. They were pimple faced and imperfect in various ways but she found herself enjoying their company.

"We'll be your friends until you start hanging out with the beautiful people." Tatiana shook her head at Ethan's comment and took a bite out of her tasteless blue gelatin. Three years didn't sound so bad after all.


	18. Bonus: Svetlana and the Green Man

**I have been in a strange headspace recently. I'm done with high school, haven't gone to work, and am leaving the country next week. On top of that, my estranged mother is in the hospital and everyone has their own idea of what I should do with my life. My reaction? Shut down and write some fanfiction and some crap poetry. It's a way to keep busy. Anyway, yay more bonus chapters! I really have no idea how many more I want to do. I just get these little ideas and run with them.**

Bruce bit his lip, trying to think of the proper thing to say as Svetlana got closer and closer to them.

"It's nice." Natasha wasn't trying very hard at not looking amused.

"It's a little demeaning."

"It's a gesture of good will."

"It's a face nailed on a tree."

"It's sweet of them."

"It's killing a tree."

"It's displaying a sense of empathy and affection, which is very healthy considering their background. We're lucky that none of them exhibit signs of the MacDonald Triad."

"Natasha?"

"Yes?"

"They nailed a green sculpture to a tree and told me it was a green man like me. They may not be psychopathic, but it's a bit twisted."

Natasha sighed and took his hand, "Let's go inside—"

"Do you like it?" Bruce sighed, turning towards the ten year old Svetlana. She twisted her long blonde braid in her hands as she waited for him to reply. Behind her, Alisa and Viktoriya stood with their hands clasped together.

"It's—what exactly is it?"

"It's a Celtic green man. My art teacher says that they're all over the British Isles. It's a bloodsucker head because it's got vines spewing out of his tear ducts. I couldn't get the vines right though, so they kind of just look like snakes."

Bruce eventually settled for patting her head, "It's nice, Svetlana."

"Thank you." She turned to Natasha and held out a package wrapped in paper, "I also made a spider!"

Natasha took one look at the lumpy, misshapen mass that was supposed to resemble a black widow spider and said, without a pause, "We'll put it on the fireplace mantle."

* * *

Svetlana sat in therapy, staring at Dr. Thomas. The woman seemed almost uncomfortable to be in her presence. While Svetlana understood that, it still gave her an uneasy sensation after the warmth and openness that Bruce, Natasha, and even the other girls embraced her with.

"They took me when I was six. I snapped two girls' necks and I smothered one with a pillow."

"Do you think that you are a danger to your peers?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do you think you could harm them."

"Of course I could, but I wouldn't." Svetlana looked down at her lap, wringing her hands nervously, "I broke their necks because I was ordered to."

"And the girl you smothered?"

"She—she asked me to. Tattie—her name was Natalia but I called her Tattie. They made her kill Hana. She wanted to go because she didn't want to do it again. They'd hurt her before they'd kill her." Svetlana was shaking, "They rewarded me. They thought I had an edge over the others—I was their favorite because she wanted to die and I helped weed out a 'weakling'. It was wrong. I know it was wrong. She was my friend, Dr. Thomas."

Dr. Thomas was writing again. Svetlana always hated that. She took notes on everything she said, looking for signs that she should be locked up or taken away. She knew how that worked. They were worried about her because she didn't make friends like the rest of them. The house they lived in with Natasha had four bedrooms aside from Bruce and Natasha's room. In theory, the room off the entry was supposed to be a living room (which, to Svetlana's understanding, was just a less functional copy of the room they had combined with the kitchen) had been turned into Svetlana and Lena's room but Svetlana preferred going up into the attic and setting up her blankets in the dormer window facing the sea.

She knew she set off alarm bells, but she couldn't help it.

When she was done, Bruce was in the waiting room. He grinned at her, giving a small awkward wave.

"Bye, Svetlana. I'll see you tomorrow." Svetlana was very aware of the fact that she was only girl that still had her every day, rather than every other day, or every week. Tatiana didn't even go to therapy anymore.

Silently, she followed Bruce out to the car and sat in the back, "So. How was it?"

Usually, Svetlana didn't say anything, "I don't think Dr. Thomas likes me very much. She thinks there's something wrong with me and she's right."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Svetlana. You got a shit deal—"

"Language."

"—that's our little secret. Anyway, you are doing fantastic. The fact that you're worrying about it is proof enough." Bruce pulled into a strip mall parking lot. Svetlana followed him out of the car without asking any questions. They entered an ice cream shop with big pictures of sundaes and ice cream cones all over the place.

"Anything on the menu."

Svetlana was overwhelmed by all the possibilities. The old lady at the counter grinned at her star struck expression, "Special occasion eh?"

"Just a treat." Bruce replied while Svetlana continued to stare.

At last, she pointed at a large picture, "That one with the bananas."

"On it." The lady held up her ice cream scoop like it was a wand.

Bruce paid at the register and sat in front of her with the giant, three scoop sundae dwarfing his scoop of vanilla in a cup. Svetlana immediately started eating. It seemed like something out of a show that she watched on the television. Out of habit, she watched from the corner of her eye as a boy in a Thor shirt approached them.

"Are you—you're Bruce Banner right?"

Bruce sighed heavily. Svetlana felt on edge immediately, "Yes."

"You're so cool. I read your papers. I want to go into molecular biology so I'm in physics right now. Who's this?"

Svetlana looked up at the red faced boy and cocked her head to the side. They had kept the Red Room Girls out of the media for the most part, but he seemed to know what she was. He wanted to know _who_ she was. He crouched down to eye level and held out his hand to shake.

"Svetlana." Hesitantly she took it with a limp grip and he shook it gently.

"That's a pretty name. It's nice to meet you. I'm Ted." He straightened up, "I have to go. Anyway, it's nice to see you both enjoying yourselves."

When he left, Svetlana smiled into her sundae and Bruce leaned in, "See? You've got introductions down. It took me ages to figure that one out. Soon enough, you'll be talking everyone's ear off." He noted Svetlana's confusion, "It means you'll talk a lot."

The next day, Mrs. Avery the art teacher wanted to get them started on clay and Svetlana decided to make Bruce a gift.

* * *

Natasha sat in a chair across from Fury. He looked at her with his one good eye, "I have a mission for you, if you're interested."

"Do I really have a choice? I've been busy making sure there aren't eleven more people like me running against you."

"Which is admirable, but there's still the remaining nine and the operatives likely selling their services to the highest bidder." Fury replied flatly. "Find them. Preferably take them in alive—the one's we deem fit can be tossed in the little retreat you have going—" Natasha wanted to whack him over the head at that, but resisted for the sake of keeping the peace, "—and the other ones can be kept away from the public. Breaking up the Red Room was necessary, but there's also a lot of loose ends to cover."

Natasha nodded, "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow preferably. Think Banner can keep them in line for that long?"

"Guess he won't have a choice." Natasha rose, "I'll be in tomorrow."

She drove home—home was an interesting term at that point—to find most of the girls home from school and Bruce in the kitchen. Irina peeked at her from the landing above before running back to meet Veronika and Eva. She walked behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

"This can't be good." He turned away from the stir fry.

"Hmmm?" She pressed a kiss at the corner of his lip.

"You're going somewhere, aren't you?"

"Yes. Pay attention." Bruce made a sound and turned, twisting the dial to zero and switching burners.

"How long?"

"Not sure. Two weeks, maybe."

"Oh." Natasha didn't like his hurt tone.

She stepped back and settled at the kitchen table. Outside, Viktoriya, Alisa, and Lena were playing with a soccer ball. Svetlana was messing around in the mud beneath her green man tree for some reason. Sofiya and Katya, the youngest were chasing each other freely while Nina sat amongst the chaos reading a book. Natasha almost forgot to reply.

"There's nine more." She sat forward, rubbing her forehead, "They slipped away when Natalia—" At the mention of Natalia, Bruce stiffened then relaxed again, "—left them to find you. We won't find the operatives over sixteen. They're too good. If they want to be found, they will be. The girls that haven't graduated or been subjected to the serum will be relatively easy. It's my job, Bruce."

He put the pan on the table and sat in the chair directly next to her, taking her hands in his, "We'll be waiting, Nat."

She leaned up against him, breathing deeply and giggling, "What a cliché thing to say."

Bruce chuckled, "Dinner's ready. Where's Tatiana?"

"She joined the chess club. They meet on Thursdays."

"Seriously? Even I wasn't that big of a nerd."

"Don't judge. She's making friends." Natasha practically sat in his lap, wrapping her arms around him, "Just don't let them burn the studio down, okay? That's sacred."

"Why can't we burn down the studio? What?" Irina walked in, "I smelled the food—why are you sitting on his lap?"

"Because she loves me very much."

Irina made a face. Natasha snorted. She supposed there were a few things that were universal, no matter what upbringing a child had.


	19. Bonus: Chess and Stark Parties

**So fair warning, everyone, I'm going to be pretty much off grid and in a different country for the next week, so no updates will be made then. I don't know why I wanted to write these scenes so much. They just seemed funny and awkward. There's really no point to these but they're so much fun to write.**

Tatiana stood at the door for a brief, awkward moment as four boys of varying body types, a rather overweight girl, and a girl in a wheelchair looked up at her in tandem. She noted that one boy looked like he never washed his hair or walked outside and the other was in desperate need of salicylic acid. She didn't know any of them. They must have all been the people Ethan was talking about who had first lunch.

"Hello." She said but none of them replied. "Where's Ethan? He said he'd be—"

"Oh, Ana, hey!" Ethan sidled past her then took her hand and led her through the door. Tatiana didn't quite know what to do with him. He was always touching or feeling or leaning in close but none of it was a surprise anymore. She just filed the behavior away under "Ethan."

He dragged her to the front of the room, "Everyone, this is Tatiana. She's joining the chess club."

"Aren't you the girl that knocked out Hanson?" the large girl asked as she took a bite of prepackaged yellow sponge cake.

"Dude, seriously?" One of the males asked, turning towards Tatiana with newfound interest, "I saw the stretcher. I just assumed he was epileptic and people were making shit up."

Ethan led her to the table and they sat. He was about to let go of her hand but she tightened her grip. He glanced at her questioningly but said nothing on the matter.

"She didn't mean to." Ethan said flatly.

She wondered if he would ever realize how good a skill it was to be able to shut up a room so easily. Instead of lingering on this previously untapped power, he shrank back to his usual self and started setting up the boards.

Throughout the session, Tatiana felt like she was being interviewed for a job.

"So you're Russian then?" The girl in the wheelchair, Fiona, asked, "Then why don't you have that accent? Did you move when you were little?"

"I've been taught English since I was six." Tatiana replied, leaving out the part where if she got the accent wrong, she would be locked up without food.

"You take ballet half the day? Is that like PE credits or something?"

"I'm not sure." Tatiana replied, "I just do."

"Are you going to be a professional ballerina?"

"Probably not." Tatiana wanted to stay lithe and in shape though. Someday, her services would be needed and she wanted to stay sharp for them.

"Have you ever actually played chess before?"

"—No. I read the rules in biology though. It seems simple enough."

They all laughed at her (with the exception of Ethan) until she won her first match.

Afterwards, Ethan insisted on waiting with her for her ride, "You really didn't have to join. It's just well—"

"I wanted to." Tatiana shrugged, "I don't do things just because I'm told to." Not anymore, anyway.

"It's just uhm—well I was only being polite when I offered. I didn't think you would actually—"

"So you didn't want me there?"

"No! No—that wasn't what I meant at all! I just thought you would uhm—get new friends after a bit."

"Why?"

"Well—I thought you'd want to start hanging out with like the dancers and cheerleaders and uhm—doing things that normal people do."

"Why would I do that?" Tatiana was the farthest thing from normal. She didn't understand Ethan. He wanted to be her friend but wanted to push her away at the same time. It made no sense.

"Because you could?" He held up his hands in defeat, "Hanging out with us is like—social suicide."

"Better than real suicide." Tatiana shrugged.

Ethan looked like he was about to say something then thought better of it, "True. Very true."

Tatiana rather liked the idea of this friendship.

* * *

"So do you like parties?"

"No."

"Would you like to come to one?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

* * *

"I don't understand why you've invited me along." Ethan looked very uncomfortable in his suit, "I don't know any of these people—"

"You'll get to know them. Besides, practically anyone here can write you recommendation letters to MIT or CalTech or wherever you want to go."

"That is—very uhm—nice I guess, but you should've brought someone more suitable."

"I like you best and I'm not going to hang out in the corner alone all night." Tatiana replied, giving him a final glance over, "You look fine." The elevator dinged and she stepped out of it, not bothering to check whether or not Ethan followed.

"How do you know all these people?" Ethan looked star struck by all the big named people in the room.

"My foster mom and dad worked with Tony Stark and Captain America was crucial in getting me out of Russia." Tatiana shrugged. "It's the whole Avengers thing."

"Your foster parents."

"Yes."

"The Black Widow and the Hulk."

"Yes but they prefer their names—"

"The Black Widow and the fucking Hulk and Iron man and—"

"I told you all this, stupid."

"God I thought you were kidding about that!"

"Nope. Now smile and stop flailing."

* * *

Bruce Banner felt very uncomfortable in his suit, even though it had been tailored to fit him this time around, "Tony's forcing me to be around a bunch of new people again—"

"You'll get to know them, love." Natasha sighed, fixing his tie and turning straight before the elevator dinged and the doors opened onto the party. She wrapped her arm in his and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked, "Besides, Tony wants you to start using the labs again. He misses his companion."

"His retirement sure lasted a long time. A whole eight months."

"There's no such thing as retirement until you're sick and dying." Natasha hissed, her expression lightening, "Look over there."

Tatiana was fixing her date's tie. He was an awkward looking boy that looked like he didn't eat enough or spend enough time in the sun. That didn't stop Tatiana from affectionately fixing the boy's glasses or running a hand down the side of his arm before leading him to meet Pepper Potts.

The other girls were wrecking havoc of their own. Svetlana was already eating ice cream in the corner while talking to a military general. Viktoriya was chasing Sofiya through the crowd, much to everyone's amusement. Lena had already taken over the piano and Alisa seemed to be making her way towards Steve and Tony, brushing past Tatiana in the process.

"See? Everything's good. Now smile and stop flailing."

* * *

Steve looked down at Alisa. She stared up at him with wide eyes, "I haven't seen you since we left Russia."

"Good to see you again, Alisa." Steve gave her a winning smile and she only cocked her head to the side. It was a little unnerving but Steve had encountered far worse than a smart little girl that wasn't easily impressed, "So what've you been doing?"

"Dancing and going to school. Svetlana does sculpting and Lena likes to play piano and violin now. I also decided to start doing swim competitions."

"Oh are you good at it?"

"I got first place yesterday." Alisa declared.

"Atta girl." Tony patted her awkwardly on the head. He didn't know quite what to do with her.

"I like swimming. I want to be a Navy Seal!" Alisa declared right as Pepper approached them. Steve caught her amused expression but decided that persuading Alisa against going into the navy took priority.

"I don't you'd want to go into the US Navy. They're not the greatest—"

"Then I'll work for the Australian navy! They're better anyway!" Steve cringed. That wasn't exactly what he meant.

"I don't think it works that way—"

"Relax, Steve. She's nine. Besides, you can do way better than the Navy." Tony tapped the side of his nose, "You could work for me. We like smart people."

"Let's not rule out the US army, people—"

"Steve, we are talking about a high class, high intelligence super spy in training and you want to put her in the boring, dull old army? FBI would be an improvement over that!"

"She'd make an excellent CEO—" Pepper cut in.

"Or I might be a zookeeper. I like the lions best!" Tony, Steve, and Pepper looked down at Alisa, who had her hands up in the air as if that was the most exciting prospect of them all.

"Or that." Tony conceded, "That works too."


	20. Hot chocolate, Names, and Normalcy

**Hey everybody! I'm back from the jungle (literally) with another oneshot I got most of done in an international airport. I couldn't get anything posted because they charged an obscene amount for wifi. Like seriously?**

A year later, Lena watched as some changes were made.

She sat on edge as Sofiya and Katya's potential adoptive parents met the girls. They were an aging Japanese couple whose children were in college. The wife looked like a dumpling and the man looked like he didn't go without a walk every day. Overall, they seemed fine, lovely even.

"Hello." The woman bent down in front of Sofiya and Katya, as Lena, Bruce, and Natasha watched carefully, "I'm Kaiko and this is my husband Kaede."

"It's nice to meet you." Sofiya stuck out her hand and shook both of them in turn while Katya closed up, shyly looking away. Lena's heart clenched. Did they really have to do this?

"Katya? How are you today?"

"I'm well." Katya replied slowly looking at her.

"What do you like to do, Katya?"

"Dancing."

"Me too." Sofiya added, "We all dance."

"Would you like to—" The otherwise silent man, whose accent was a lot thicker than his wife's searched for the word, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Show us?" Kaiko suggested.

"Yes—that." Kaede nodded, "Snow—er show."

Katya giggled, hiding it behind her hand. The man blushed. "It's okay, I forget words too."

Lena let out a deep breath of relief. For the rest of the day, Sofiya and Katya showed them around the property, from the studio to their bedroom, cheerfully chatting about their days the entire time. Soon after they left with the Takata family, Veronika and Ava, two girls of a similar age were placed in another home in a similar fashion. Then, finally, Irina and Nina, the eldest of the girls going were placed with the Barton children after a great deal of careful consideration.

That left Lena, Alisa, Viktoriya, and Svetlana, mainly because they wanted to stay, and Tatiana, who they hadn't bothered to screen at all. From a logical standpoint, Lena could see how five children were manageable enough. Five for the Bartons and five for Bruce and Natasha was even and odd at the same time. Lena wondered if Sofiya and Katya would become Takatas (that would be an interesting thing to explain to confused teachers) and Veronika and Ava would become Fitzpatricks. Did that mean that Irina and Nina would become Bartons? It was all so strange. Lena bit her lip, staring up at the ceiling of her ominously empty bedroom. Yelena Belova didn't sound like her name anymore. It was something she wrote on sheets of paper when asked of her but it wasn't her name.

Lena.

Lena Belova still didn't sound right.

Lena Banner.

Lena Romanoff.

Lena.

She wondered if her preoccupation with this topic was strange. Children were often named after their parents or their adopted parents but Bruce and Natasha were not her parents. Lena rose, suddenly feeling a little queasy with that conclusion. There was stirring in the kitchen and out of habit, Lena walked on the balls of her feet to investigate.

"I hear you." Tatiana said dully, "You're either Lena or Svetlana."

"Lena." She admitted, slipping in. "What are you doing?" She gestured towards the kettle on the stove.

"Making hot chocolate."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Tatiana countered.

Lena nodded, sitting on the chair leaned forward, her arms crossed around her stomach in a defensive position, "What's your name?"

"Pardon?"

"Your whole name. The one you had when you got to—"

"Volkoff. My papa's name was Ilya. Tatiana Ilyinichna Volkoff."

"I had no papa. My mother didn't give me a middle name." Yelena replied sourly, "It's incomplete."

"Well my papa used to knock the living shit out of me, so I don't feel particularly lucky on that count."

"I feel like it's still missing."

"You can have mine too if you'd like. Or you could try turning Bruce's name into a middle name."

"Bruceovna? Robertovna?" Lena tried out the names, biting her lip, "Yelena Robertovna Belova."

"You like it."

"Yes. I'll ask him about it in the morning though. I'd hate to take any liberties—"

"What are you doing up?" Viktoriya walked in, rubbing her eyes with the long sleeve of an Iron Man hoodie that _someone_ got her for Christmas.

"Making hot chocolate." Tatiana answered lightly.

"Can I have some?"

"Of course." Tatiana had already been taking another mug out before she asked.

"Natasha's not going to send all of us away, is she?"

"No, just the ones that can act normal." Svetlana entered, her tone bitter. Tatiana sighed and took more mugs out. Lena supposed that they might as well wait for Alisa to wake up as well.

"We can act normal." Lena protested.

"But we can't be normal like they can. They were beaten and neglected—there are many that go through that and still become proper adults. They didn't have to kill the people they slept by." Svetlana sat on the counter across from Lena, sure to get the higher ground in the slightest of ways.

"I don't think it matters—" Lena argued.

"What matters is we are here." Tatiana interrupted, pressing a mug of steaming hot chocolate smothered in whipped cream and marshmallows in everyone's hands one by one. "And right now, we are drinking hot chocolate and aren't going to think about these things too much, right?"

Lena turned around and gave Alisa (who had tried to enter as quietly as she had) a mug before the girl could say anything. She sat on the breakfast nook bench next to Viktoriya, waiting for the next part of the argument to unfold. Svetlana could be deadly and vindictive with her words. While staying at the studio softened everyone else, it made her seem sharper and more bitter. She took a sip of her drink and sighed, putting it off to the side.

"I don't think you've thought about it. We don't have a future, Lena."

"Of course we do. Our needs are met and we do well academically—"

"And what? We're just going to go out into the world and get normal jobs and get married and have babies and pretend like none of this ever happened? You're deluding yourself, Lena, if you think you can do that."

"Just because you can't doesn't mean I can't." Lena spat. Svetlana looked like she was ready to pounce on Lena and Lena would almost gladly welcome the fight. Only, she felt incredibly bad once the thought crossed her mind.

"Svetlana—"

"No. Tatiana, no. You're just as bad as she is. Let's have hot chocolate and not think about everything that's wrong with us? I thought you were the eldest! You should know better than any of us. But no, you're going around and talking to people and talk to talent scouts and pretend to care and you have that Ethan person who always hangs on to your every last word and you think, you think that it makes you normal. We can never be normal!"

"There's no such thing as normal anyway." Lena said and everyone's eyes landed on her, "We do the best we can."

"What are you going to do?"

"I want to go to music school." Lena shrugged, "And Tatiana's going to join SHIELD when she turns eighteen."

"That's still your plan?" Svetlana turned on Tatiana again, her voice incredulous, "What about your pet friend? Do you think they're going to want you if you have that kind of pressure point?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Svetlana doesn't like dancing." Alisa said quietly. Everyone turned towards her. She was still playing with the whipped cream atop her hot chocolate.

"What?"

"Svetlana doesn't like dancing."

Svetlana rolled her eyes, "What does—"

"If you don't want to dance, then stop. If you don't want to be normal, then stop trying." Alisa continued absently, "I don't see why you find it so hard."

"You can't see the future because you don't do what you like to do." Viktoriya added.

"I—"

"You just do as your told then complain about it when you have no real reason to do things in the first place. It doesn't make sense." With that final statement, Alisa hopped down from the seat and left.

"Wait for me!" Viktoriya trailed behind, holding her hot chocolate in one hand and Alisa's abandoned mug in the other. This left the three older girls staring at each other in silence.

Tatiana cleared her throat and looked off to the side awkwardly. Svetlana glared into her cup, no doubt fighting her own demons. Lena was just glad that her concern of the night happened to be a name.

"I had a nightmare. It made me mad." Svetlana spoke at last, "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"I'm sorry too." Lena replied. And she was sorry. She hated conflict of all sorts.

Tatiana still didn't say anything. She stared down at her phone with a text from Ethan for a long moment, before switching it off and throwing the cooling kettle on the back burner. Lena watched as she retreated to her room like she was being pursued and then got up to leave.

"Goodnight, Svetlana. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Lena and—I think I'm going to skip on practice tomorrow. Alisa had a point."

"I'm sure Natasha will understand." Lena slowly closed her door and climbed into her bed once more, this time warmed by her hot chocolate and tired enough to simply drift off without dreams or concerns. It was a good feeling.

 **Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Suggestions? They can all be left in the happy little box below.**


	21. Regression

**It's kind of been a while guys, and I apologize for that. I have to move again soon (I think I'm an expert at it by now) and I've been prepping for college and all of that. This one is incredibly serious and might be awkward to some people for mentions of uncomfortable sexual situations. As per usual, tell me what you think and if you have any ideas or suggestions!**

Regression: A return to a former or less developed state

The last time she was kissed, she was fourteen and she drove a knife in his throat, blatantly ignoring the look of hurt and betrayal on the man's face as he choked on his own blood and bled to death. She didn't kill Ethan, but she sprang back, the disgusting memory surfacing. She ran out of his room and out the door of his house and jumped into her car, starting it and driving off before Ethan even had time to make it out the open door. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. It beat against her head as she saw the blood on her hands, the blood on her shirt, the blood on her shoes, the blood that settled in the body after a death.

She wanted to slam her car into a tree but fire—that could spread—so she got home, narrowly avoiding the mailbox and barely taking the keys out of the ignition before she walked in, making a beeline for the kitchen. She pulled the vodka from the top cabinet and started drinking it straight from the bottle, gasping and choking with the burn. She had to get out of this world of civilians and dance competitions because she was a bloody mark upon them all.

She didn't understand how Natasha could love Bruce. It was such a foreign concept to Tatiana that most of the time she didn't try to wrap her mind around it. He was kind, aesthetically pleasing, and served several purposes but there was something more that Tatiana assumed had been beaten out of everyone in Tatiana and Natasha's situation. In theory, Natasha was too old to be rehabilitated, and Tatiana was the best case of the other girls her age. She didn't have to be stuffed in a hospital the moment Natasha found her like those girls, but she wasn't rid of her scars as easily as the younger ones. They were all trying and she was trying just as hard as the rest of them but something was gone.

Originally, Tatiana thought that it was just another thing that the Red Room ripped away from her, but watching Natasha and Bruce together made that theory shaky. Maybe Natasha was properly loved once and not a hated burden until she was finally dumped off at the gates of hell. The more Tatiana thought about the things that she did to stay alive, the more she regretted ever being alive. She felt like a stain.

She took yet another burning gulp of Natasha's vodka and cringed at the taste. Natasha was physically incapable of getting intoxicated so Tatiana didn't understand the point of having something that tasted so bad. Yet the more she drank, the more she liked it, if only for it's ability to make her numb. The therapist referred to this as self medication and Tatiana knew it was unhealthy but there were so many things unhealthy about her that she figured one more thing wouldn't kill her just yet.

"What are you doing up, Tati—?" Bruce stopped, staring at her for a moment before sitting down in front of her, pulling the chair so close that their knees touched. He took the bottle from her limp hand and set it to the side, "Tatiana, tell me what happened."

She thought about replying. Bruce and Natasha made it so easy to simply speak her mind but she didn't know what she wanted to say. There were no words, not in English, not in Russian, not in Ukrainian, for what she wanted to say.

Instead she slid her hand up the inside of his thigh and he bolted from his seat, stuttering and blushing like no one had ever done that before. It was ridiculous, preposterous, she didn't even find him attractive but that never mattered when she was ordered to touch and caress a target until it was time to stab him in the neck—Bruce stumbled away from Tatiana as if he had been stung. Good. She should still have that effect on people. Immediately she felt bad. She hated the lack of disconnect between her actions and emotions.

"You're the only person I've ever done that to that didn't want it." She felt her voice slur a little and her posture slackened and slumped, "You're a good man. Such a—such a good man. I didn't like to do things like that."

"Tatiana." Bruce said firmly, suddenly close to her again, clasping her shoulder in such a kind and fatherly gesture that Tatiana felt sick, "You never—ever—have to do anything like what they taught you in the Red Room. Natasha's told me stories—"

"What about when I want to? I've never wanted to." Tatiana felt tears rolling down her face and she felt so weak and silly, "I—he looks at me like I'm wonderful. Like I'm not a killer and he doesn't _know,_ he doesn't—" Tatiana let out a little hiccup, "I'm so, so sorry—but I hate feeling _everything_ like this. I hate it—I hate it—I'm sorry. I should've died there. I should've—"

"Tatiana. God—Natasha would be so much better at this—Tatiana, you are here—you are living and there are so many people that want you here and living. It hurts. I've been here—"

"You tried—you can't die."

"You're right. So I'm stuck here constantly trying to do the right thing. And so are you."

"I don't know what it is."

"That's why _trying_ is the key word there. You don't have to do anything. No one expects you to." Bruce was so earnest. So honest. Tatiana managed a small smile. "You'll feel better tomorrow—that is, after the hangover. Let's get you to bed."

She did feel horrible the next morning, but she still got up to stretch and do bar exercises. She was the only one that still did all of her practice in the morning and some more in the afternoon. Everyone else had been rehabilitated. Tatiana was resigned to the fact that she was simply going to graduate with A LOT of physical education credits.

She didn't like the song she was doing anymore or the choreography that went along with it. It was a judge favorite but it was too happy. Lena walked in as she went through the music selection, each one more depressing than the next.

"Find an angry song." Lena dropped on the floor and started using an exercise band to flex her foot.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had a panic attack at school yesterday."

"I didn't know."

"You weren't there and then you were drunk." Lena leaned forward to touch her toes, taking deep and even breaths.

"I'm sorry."

"We were never good at comforting each other anyway."

Tatiana frowned, picking up the phone and turning off the music. Lena looked just as tired and worn out as she was. The now thirteen year old was in an awkward place, developmentally, with barely emerging breasts and a training bra and the start of a little acne on her chin. The Red Room would've hated that.

"Was it another flashback?"

"I was just suddenly _there_ again, Tatiana." Lena whispered, "I was there, right in the middle of math and I couldn't do anything about it." Tatiana shifted across the floor and embraced Lena. "I would've never thought about these things if we hadn't been taken out. They would have shaped me into a complete monster. I'm glad I scream and cry and have nightmares. I'm glad I see how horrible I was and how horrible I could've been. It was the ruler. Mr. Hong accidentally hit the board too hard."

"It just—hurts." Tatiana's phone buzzed again.

"Ethan?"

"Yeah."

She didn't text back.

That night, she caught the scream in her hand and bit into it so hard that she tasted blood. She got up and washed her face. She desperately wanted the enemy to have a fact outside of her dreams. On nights like these, usually when Natasha was away from home, eleven months until eighteen sounded like a long time. Tatiana looked around her room. It was only her room now. The youngest girls—the ones without the scars of killing their sisters in spars—went to members of SHIELD that had families of their own or trusted adoptive parents. Viktoriya and Alisa still shared the room next door. Lena and Svetlana took the rooms on the other side. Two of the four girls Natasha found lived in the living room. The other two lived in an institution. Tatiana found that she didn't want to be one of the lucky ones anymore.

Ethan called five more times. His last text, a mere two minutes ago, was threatening to come to her house. Tatiana sighed, clicking his name and holding the phone up to her ear.

"Ana? Ana—hey I'm sorry, I didn't mean I'd come it'd trip the alarms and wake everybody up and I'd probably get shot but yeah." Tatiana smiled and bit her knuckle, but didn't say anything, "I know I screwed up but we—can't we just talk? I want to just—please? Please, Ana."

Tatiana hung up. She stuffed the pills back into her purse and walked out to her car again. The drive was the same as it always was but it felt both endless and short as she drew nearer to Ethan's house. She rang the door and stepped back as if she wanted to make a run for it. That awkward time spent waiting increased her anxiety until Mrs. Ortega opened the door.

"Oh—hi Tatiana! Was Ethan expecting you?"

"I don't think so." Tatiana replied.

"Come in, come in, he's in the basement." Mrs. Ortega shooed Tatiana in and let her gestured towards the stairs.

Ethan was slumped on the sofa, staring blankly at the television screen, his phone on the coffee table.

"I'm here." She said quietly.

Ethan jumped like a gun shy dog, turning towards her. He continued standing as she came closer and sat on the sofa, tugging him down to fall beside her. Ethan kept his eyes on his hands.

"Ana—Ana I'm sorry—"

"You said that already." Tatiana replied flatly.

"I shouldn't have kissed you. I—I should've known—"

"Should've known what?"

"Somebody like you wouldn't like somebody like me. I'm—you're so beautiful and I—it was stupid."

"You thought that was what this was about?" Tatiana shook her head, a tiny wisp of a laugh escaping her.

"What else was I—"

"Stop it."

"Ana—"

"I had some things I needed to sort out. I told you some things—about how I was raised." Tatiana found that she couldn't look directly at him, "I killed people."

He let out his breath and it sounded like a mix between a gasp and a sigh, "I didn't know for sure—but the Red Room was all over the Internet and I wasn't—"

"I had to do things—that were—" Tatiana didn't know how to say these things, "intimate."

Ethan looked up, his wide and horrified eyes trained on her. Tatiana wanted to disappear into the cushions, "I'm so sorry," he said, surprising her, "I shouldn't have been so forward with that—I didn't mean to hurt you." He reached out and almost took her hands before freezing, suddenly hesitant in his action.

"You didn't."

Tatiana finished for him, lacing her fingers with his and resting her head against his shoulder. Ethan reached over her shoulders with the arm closer to her and drew her closer. Affection—not lust or desire or anything too sudden—was pleasant, and Tatiana had to make up for years of lost time.


	22. Homesick

**This is very brief. I know I've been gone for ages, but I'll hopefully be updating a little more now. I just had this idea a moment ago, and decided to write this little snippet. I know it's not much, but I hope you enjoy!**

Lena loved the sound of music as she danced. She loved counting in her head as she went through the steps. She loved it when her feet left the floor and she was lfited into the air by her partner. Then, unexpectedly, his balance failed and she fell, making sure she fell the right way so not to injure herself. Henry looked down at her apologetically and moved to help her up.

"Are you all right?"

"We have to go through this again?" Lena asked, instead of replying.

"Well—"

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you. You're not working as my partner. You dropped me _on stage_ last week."

"No one else will work with you?"

"Why?"

"Because you act like a bitch every time someone makes a mistake."

"There's a right way to do all this and I only mean to do it all right."

"Your standards are higher than the director, Lena."

Lena blinked. "So?"

"So can you ease up a little? Or I'll drop you on purpose next time."

Lena rolled her eyes "Fine. Again."

This time, she sailed for a moment and landed properly and gracefully, holding Henry close as if they had never argued, as if they were the lovers they were portraying. Lena had been dancing in the company for six months when she met Henry. He was the only partner that lasted more than a month before they stomped off or she demanded a new one. Dancing here was nothing like dancing at home, where her need for perfection was observed and realized. She felt almost like the only girl that wasn't puking in the bathroom, dating boys and drinking more than they should, or really living.

The second time Henry dropped her on stage, she decided that it was time to go home.


End file.
